


Rules of Insanity

by inthepapers3times



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dark!Eggsy, Eggsy is a psychopath, M/M, Smut, Who has a dangerous fixation with Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthepapers3times/pseuds/inthepapers3times
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst mistake of Harry Hart’s life started like many of the minor mistakes he had made: with a one night stand. If only he had taken the taxi all the way to his house. Maybe then he wouldn't have met this particular young man, and he wouldn't have taken him home. Maybe then all of this could have been avoided. </p><p>Harry gets pulled into a dangerous game with Gary, a disturbed man he barely knows, and has no choice but to play along. </p><p>Gary is in control completely. He makes the rules. Harry is just forced to follow them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You can't arrest me

Harry loved to walk the streets in the cool night air, loved to look at the lights of the buildings and the stars above. London was beautiful at night. He ignored beggars and passer-by’s and pretended he was alone in the city he loved. 

Merlin often snickered about this, Harry’s habit of letting himself be dropped off miles from his house, to walk home in the rain, the cold, the darkness. But Harry had always done this. He liked darkness. The darkness of the city, the darkness that he knew was in every person he met. The darkness that he could not deny was in himself as well. 

He relished these moments alone, especially on nights like this, nights after he’d come home from a draining mission. Walking to his house, he could finally shake off the things that had happened, the things he had done. He could pick and choose which memories to dismiss and which ones to keep locked up in his mind, to revisit when he needed them. When he wanted them. 

Like many nights before, he didn’t head straight home. Instead, he went into one of the many abandoned buildings and climbed the stairs to the very top, where he opened the door leading to the flat roof. He had discovered this place a few years ago, and while the building itself may be a rundown ugly thing, the view from its roof was spectacular. He could look down at the streets of London and be alone with his thoughts.

If he had seen the other person, he would’ve turned around, but he only saw the figure on the edge of the roof when he had already let go of the door, making it fall shut with a loud bang. 

The person turned his head around with a shock, and kept his eyes on Harry while carefully scooting away from the edge. “I’m sorry,” the young man said, sounding frightened. “Please don’t arrest me.” 

Harry chuckled. “I won’t.” he said. 

The guy heaved a sigh of relief. “You’re not a cop? Oh God, I thought I was gonna get made for trespassing.” He laughed. 

“Well, I’m not on duty right now,” Harry said teasingly. “Mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all!” the young man said, “Always nice to share the view, isn’t it?” 

Harry hummed his agreement, walked over to the edge, and sat down carefully, his legs dangling over the edge. There was plenty of space between them, and yet it felt intimate. They were the only two people in the world seeing what they saw. They shared an experience other people would never know the existence of. They sat in silence for a moment, taking in the view. 

“Do you come here often?” the young man then said, and he immediately covered his face with his hands when he realised what it sounded like. “I meant… well, actually that was exactly what I meant, wasn’t it?” he sounded properly embarrassed. 

Harry thought it was endearing. He looked at the man, who he could tell was blushing, despite the darkness. “I do.” He said. “Well, not often. But regularly. How about you?” 

“Uuhm, no, this is my first time. Kind of a spur of the moment kind of thing.” He cleared his throat. “And I guess this isn’t the best way to cure my fear of heights at all.” He scooted backwards until he felt secure enough to stand up. “It worked with going to clubs,” he mumbled.

“You were afraid of going to clubs?” Harry asked amusedly. He moved away from the edge as well, to look at the man, who was awkwardly scratching his elbow. 

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to go to gay clubs because I thought that… I don’t know what I thought, but it seemed scary, until I did it. Though I suppose everything is scary until you do it.” He took a tentative step towards the edge, and even though there were three meters between him and the edge he quickly took a step back again. “Except for staring into the abyss, apparently.” He sighed. Then he looked at Harry, looking embarrassed again. “Sorry, apparently I turn into a rambling idiot when I’m…” he glanced at the edge nervously. “… Terrified.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry said reassuringly. He quite liked how the boy rambled and spilled his secrets without even noticing. Gay clubs eh? He wasn’t normally one to do this, but he had returned from his mission abroad with a feeling of euphoria, a feeling that nothing could take from him, and he decided to take his chances. “Do you want to work on your fear some more?” he asked.

The man laughed nervously. “Thanks, but I think I’ll go downstairs and stay on ground level for the rest of my life.” 

“I meant your fear of clubs.” Harry said, and held his breath in anticipation. 

The man looked up at him, and his face split into a wide smile as realisation dawned on him. “Now that,” he said, and he sounded like he had forgotten all about the height, “sounds like a great idea.” 

****

Harry was surprised at how much he immediately liked this man. He knew nothing about him, only that he was afraid of heights, and yet he felt like there was an easy understanding between the both of them. They chatted away about nothing in particular. Harry felt more relaxed than he had ever felt with a stranger. He liked how the young man kept saying things and backtracking in embarrassment. 

“No offence, but you don’t look like the club going type. Not that there is anything wrong with that! Shit! I just thought…. If I saw you on the streets I’d think ‘That is a guy who loves modern art!’ You know what I mean?” The guy looked at Harry sheepishly, while they walked to the gay neighbourhood. 

Harry laughed. “I understand.” 

The guy looked relieved. 

“And I can’t stand modern art.” Both smiled at that admission. 

“Do you not like art in general? Like, if I were to take you to- Uhhm.. If you could pick a museum, where’d you go?” The young man was blushing again, hiding his face behind his hand in the pretence of fixing his hair. It was cute, and Harry couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if the guy would take him to a museum. 

“To the Natural History Museum,” he said after thinking about it. “I’ve never been. You?” 

The guy shook his head. “No, but I’d like to.” He smiled to himself, and Harry wondered if he was imagining the same thing. He looked up at Harry and gave him a shy smile. “This is so weird. To meet like this.” 

“Is it? I always meet frightened men on rooftops and let them woo me with museum dates.” Harry said teasingly. 

The guy shoved him lightly, blushing severely. “Well I don’t.” he said. “I just meet people in clubs, and we talk about nothing. One time, I only found out the guy I’d gone home with was a Carlton Wealer supporter when I was leaving. Like, he had a cardboard cut-out of the guy taped to the inside of his front door!” His eyes widened when he told it, like the shock of this discovery was still fresh in his mind. 

“Wealer?” Harry laughed. “Carlton “I’m not racist, I’ve just never met a smart black person before” Wealer? And he didn’t seem crazy before?” 

The guy shoved him again. “Don’t make fun of me!” he chuckled. “I asked myself the same thing. ‘Could I have known’?” he sighed dramatically. Then he narrowed his eyes at Harry and looked him up and down, only just avoiding slamming into a lamppost, “Wait, so you’re not a right-wing nutter, you don’t like modern art, and you don’t seem to be insane in any way…. You’re not secretly a serial killer are you?”. 

Harry just smirked at him. 

“That’s not funny!” the man said, in a tone that said the opposite. 

“If I tell you, there is no challenge anymore for you to find out, is there?” Harry was flirting, he realised, and it seemed to work. “You know what, since you’ve obviously never met a sane person before,” the guy groaned but Harry kept going, “how about this: we meet in that club over there, like it is the first time. And you’ll have broken your string of bad-luck-meetings.” 

The guy rolled his eyes. “Sure. I’ll give you a head start. That way, if you change your mind, you can still climb out of the loo window.” 

Harry smirked “I’d rather keep my climbing to a minimum, so let’s just say I will make the first move.” He winked at the guy, taking them both by surprise, and went into the club.

****

He was slowly drinking himself into a blissful numbness, while discretely looking at the men who were dancing and drinking all around him. He had noticed the young man from before the minute he walked in, and had purposefully ignored him for as long as he could stand. Experience taught him that after half an hour of ‘not noticing’ someone, a look could be enough to seal the deal. And sure enough, when he finally looked at the young man, he smiled in a relieved manner and made his way over to where Harry was standing. Thirty seconds later they had finally exchanged names (“Gary and Harry? That’s funny!” the guy had remarked with a cheeky grin), and thirty minutes later they were getting undressed in Harry’s flat. 

At that point the combination of tiredness and alcohol must have started to take its toll, because Harry remembered clumsily fumbling with his clothes, and Gary helping him with the buttons and cufflinks of his shirt. After that it was all a bit of a blur, but Harry did remember the man taking off his own shirt, revealing a very toned body, which Harry stared at with the blatant admiration that was typical for intoxicated people. He remembered hot kisses and Gary’s hands on his chest and Gary’s lips on his neck and chest and stomach. They had sex in a drunken haze, and while Harry’s head was pounding and he was almost intimidated by how beautiful Gary was, he must’ve done a good job regardless, because Gary was very vocal in his appreciation. 

In the morning, Harry woke up with a hangover, sore muscles, and hickey’s all over his chest. He heard the sound of running water in the bathroom, and a few moments later Gary walked into the bedroom fully dressed. 

“Morning,” Gary said with a grin. 

“Good morning,” Harry said, feeling a bit awkward for laying here naked, even though he was under the covers. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eight. 

“I’ve got to get to work,” Gary said, sounding like he’d much rather get back to bed. 

Harry leaned to the side and grabbed his morning gown from the chair. He held it in such a way he wouldn’t flash the guy his genitals as he got up, and quickly put the gown on. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he mumbled. It was the least he could do, wasn’t it? 

Gary smiled at him and followed him along the hallway to the front door. As he stepped outside, he turned around and grinned at Harry cheekily. “I had a really good time.” 

Harry could feel his cheeks flush red, but luckily Gary didn’t give him time to respond – what was he supposed to say anyway? “Me too”? - as he leaned forward and kissed Harry gently on the lips. 

He grinned at Harry again, and walked away. Just before he reached the stairs, he turned around. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again,” he said. Then he grinned at Harry and waved at him as he disappeared from sight. 

Back then, Harry thought nothing of that comment. It was just an expression wasn’t it? He couldn’t know that not much later he would find out the boy was right. 

 

****

It felt like he had just fallen asleep again when his phone rang, waking him up. Harry groaned, and got up, picked his suit jacket up from the floor where he’d so carelessly dropped it that night and searched through the pockets for his phone. Merlin. Of course Merlin would call him on the morning after coming back from a draining mission. Harry picked up and sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. “Morning Merlin.” 

“It’s past noon,” Merlin said, uncharacteristically snappy. “We need you in the shop.” 

“What?” Harry opened his eyes. It was his day off. After missions like this, agents were allowed – no, forced – to take the day off to rest. That he was needed could only mean something terrible had happened. “What’s going on?” he asked, not bothering to try to keep the worry out of his voice. 

“The Tate Modern just exploded.” 

The words seeped into Harry’s brain very, very slowly. “Exploded?” 

“Yes. Almost two hundred people were inside, all of whom are assumed dead, and now every museum and government building is terrified they’re next. The director of the British Museum had a heart attack when he heard the news, and every government official is afraid to use the word ‘terrorism’ but everybody’s thinking it.” 

Harry’s head was spinning, in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said, and hung up. 

****

“So far there are seventy confirmed deaths, and twelve wounded, varying from broken bones to critical condition.” Merlin was standing in the conference room, looking at all the agents that weren’t currently overseas. Everybody on mission in England had been pulled off their mission and was now back here, looking at the screen behind Merlin, where a livestream of the Tate Modern was shown. Countless rescue workers and paramedics were on-site, doing their best to get as many people as possible out of the rubble that once had been the museum. Not a single wall was left standing. 

“How?” Lancelot asked, summing up what everyone was thinking. How the hell was this possible? A terrorist attack (Harry wasn’t a politician, he wasn’t afraid to use the word) of this scale, executed this well…. It should be impossible, between MI6, the police, the army, and Kingsman itself, and all the counter-terrorism measures that were taken every single day by countless other organisations. 

Merlin rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Percival is going to take a look at the explosives used, though he has already said that whoever made them is a bloody professional. As you can see, the walls all came down in a rather controlled manner, there was no ‘outward’ explosion at all. The damage is contained to the museum. That has to be done on purpose, and it is way harder to achieve than a ‘regular’ explosion, where the main goal is just damage or murder. Percival said - and I have to agree – that it looks like the building was taken down by demolition experts.” 

“And what does that tell us?” Tristan asked. “That some terrorist cell contracted an official demolition firm to take down a building that was obviously not meant to be taken down, in the middle of the day, with people inside of it?” He sounded like he wanted it to sound sarcastic, but worry was seeping through. What if that was exactly what happened? What if this terrorist cell somehow had the means to pressure or bribe a company into doing something that was so obviously an act of terrorism?

“It tells us,” Merlin said, “that they, whoever they are, have resources. And since the act has not yet been claimed by any terrorist group, we do not know who did it, and why. And we do not know what will happen next.” 

Agents exchanged worried looks. It wasn’t often that there was a threat with unknown origin, and Merlin was right, it made it hard to anticipate what would happen next. They knew nothing, which meant that absolutely anything could happen. 

The day was spent in absolute chaos. Every public building, from schools to museums, to swimming pools, was evacuated and checked for bombs, while the security footage of the Tate Modern and surrounding streets was checked for anomalies. It was dreadful work, going through hours of security footage frame by frame, and Merlin and the other agents tasked with this got more irritated with every passing hour. Harry had been to so many buildings he had lost count, and he was absolutely exhausted when he returned to Kingsman HQ. Merlin was still going through the security footage, assisted by Percival who had returned after taking a closer look at the explosives. His initial thought has been right. The explosives used were professional ones. 

“Had any luck yet?” He asked.

Percival gestured at a large screen to the left. Harry went to stand in front of it and looked at the many small pictures under the heading ‘possible suspects/possibly connected’. As he looked at the screen, at the low quality pictures of men and women who had been marked suspect for whatever reason, another picture was added. He glanced over it and did a double take. 

No. Oh no. His heart sank as he looked at the picture. 

It was Gary. 

He tried to tell himself he couldn’t be sure. The quality was low, as always with security footage, and anyway, he had only seen the man once. He took a step back and squinted at it. The man looked at the camera, his face was almost perfectly visible, much better than the other people, whose heads were partly turned, or obscured by shadows or long hair or hands holding cell phones to their ears. Not this man. His face was incredibly clear. 

It was Gary, he was sure of it. 

“Go home, Galahad. You look knackered.” Merlin’s voice startled him, and he turned around, hoping that the shock wasn’t visible on his face. “I feel knackered,” he said, a lousy excuse for the paleness of his face, but also somehow not really a lie. He couldn’t wait to get home, to let sleep take over and forget about this horrible day, even if it was only for a few hours. He’d sleep on it, and maybe tomorrow he’d see the man in the picture looked nothing like Gary. 

And if it turned out he did…. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d decide what to do. For now it was best if he just kept his mouth shut.

****

He walked into his apartment and switched on the light. He hung his coat and toed off his shoes, then he filled a glass with water and went to his bedroom. He opened the door, and his heart skipped a beat. Gary was sitting on his bed, naked, giving him that cheeky grin that made his brain overheat. 

“Hello Harry,” he said cheerfully. 

Harry’s jaw dropped. It was really him. He was really sitting here, looking at him. 

“It was you.” Harry said flatly. 

Gary shrugged. “Yes.”

How? 

Why? 

With difficulty, he remained some of his composure. “Every agent in London is looking for you.” Harry said. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like this, hadn’t meant this little bit of admiration to seep in. It wasn’t completely true, either. They were looking for the person who did it, and right now there were only two people in the world who knew who that person was.

“You showed your face on camera. Soon everyone in the whole country will know what you look like.” 

Gary gave him a proud smile. “I know.” He didn’t seem worried at all, ruffling his hair, leaning back into Harry’s pillow as if he owned the place. 

Harry was very aware of the man’s nakedness, and was determined to keep eye contact. “Then why are you here?” he asked sincerely. Nothing made sense. 

Gary shrugged. “It ups the stakes.” He said earnestly. 

The stakes. 

“This is a game.” Harry said. 

It wasn’t a question, and Gary’s eyes started gleaming like a kid’s when it’s told it’s allowed to pick out some candy. “Exactly!” he leaned forward a bit, eager to talk about this. This game he was playing. They were playing. 

Did it matter he was an unwilling participant? He was involved in this whether he liked it or not. 

“Come sit down,” Gary said, patting the space next to him. 

Harry looked at him with suspicion. 

Gary rolled his eyes. “I ain’t gonna off you or anything. Could of done so if I wanted. What’s the fun in that?” 

Harry hesitated, but what was the point? A person who was smart enough to get past his home security, let alone around every safety measure specifically designed to keep things like this from happening, was smart enough to be able to kill him regardless of proximity. Gary was right; if he had wanted to kill him, Harry would be dead by now. And for some reason, Gary didn’t want him dead. 

He wanted him to play. 

Harry tugged on his sleeves, a habit of his when trying to regain his composure, and took the few steps to the bed with a feigned confidence. He sat down next to the boy, who was smiling at him with something that Harry would have mistaken for genuine fondness if he didn’t know exactly what this man had done mere hours ago. He tried his best not to get distracted by how close they were, he tried to ignore the fact he could feel Gary’s body heat through his clothes, that he could hear the man’s soft breaths. He tried to ignore the other’s nakedness. Most of all, he tried to ignore the way Gary was looking at him. With desire. Lust. With a hunger that reminded Harry of hunter and prey. “What if I don’t want to play?” he asked. 

Gary shrugged. “You will want to.” 

“Why?” 

Gary rolled his eyes, as if the answer was perfectly obvious. “Because it is your only chance of getting out of this alive.” He said it in a very casual, almost bored way, like he thought it dreadful he had to make this threat already. 

Harry had halfway expected this, but for now it seemed he had the upper hand. Even without his weapons he’d be able to just kill this man. He had the training for it. “You might be overestimating how much I love my life,” he quipped.

Gary looked shocked. “Harry! Don’t say things like that! You are a beautiful human being, and you deserve to live!” he sounded so sincere, seconds after he’d threatened Harry with death, that Harry almost laughed. He was insane. Absolutely insane. 

Gary’s expression changed. “If you don’t wanna play, that’s fine, but it will happen either way.” 

“What will happen?”

“Everything I have planned. It will go on with or without you. To be perfectly honest, I’d prefer it with you. And Harry? You are the only one who can stop this. Well…” he chuckled. “Except for me, of course. Let me say it this way, you are the only person who both WANTS to and IS ABLE to stop this.” 

In other words, he had no choice. Whatever it was, it had already been set in motion. But why? “So, what’s your endgame here?” he asked, looking Gary in the eye. 

Gary gave him that cheeky grin again. “The endgame,” he said, putting his hand on Harry’s thigh, “is of no importance right now.” He ran his hand up Harry’s thigh slowly, let it linger for a while, and ran it back down again. It got more and more difficult to not let himself be affected, now that he could feel the heat of Gary's hand through his pants, his strong fingers on his leg. Harry knew he wasn’t supposed to want his. Not anymore. But he did. Before he could stop himself, he put his arms around Gary’s waist and pulled him into his lap. 

Gary leaned closer, until his lips were almost touching Harry’s ear. He could feel his warm breath caress his ear and cheek as the man spoke. “What is important,” his hand wandered to Harry's chest and lingered there, “is that we set some ground rules.” He squeezed Harry's nipple softly, and Harry’s breath hitched. 

He swallowed hard. “Ground rules?” he asked, and he cursed himself for the way it sounded breathless. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. A soft chuckle tickled his ear. “Yes Harry. Ground rules. For the game?” Gary leaned back again, keeping his hand where it was. 

Harry was getting hard, and he knew the man knew. There was no hiding it with the position they were in. And Oh Boy, it was quite a situation, wasn’t it? 

Gary smiled at him, looking perfectly innocent, a little teasing maybe. “First rule: You are not allowed to arrest me. That would be cheating.” 

Arrest him. So he still thought he was a cop. 

Gary grinned at him, and this time there was something terrifying in it. Somehow Harry knew before the boy even said it. “So it has to be one of the other Kingsman.” 

Fuck. Goddamnit. 

His one secret. The only secret he’d kept all his life, the one thing no one was allowed to know, and somehow the boy KNEW. How? 

“Rule two: We both tell nobody about this.” He put his hand on Harry’s cheek, a sudden movement that made Harry flinch. Gary laughed joylessly at his reaction. He cupped his cheek and leaned in again, looking Harry in the eyes all the way until their noses were almost touching. “I was never here,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. His lips were almost touching Harry’s, he could feel the warm breath on his lips. 

A sigh escaped Harry’s throat. 

Gary opened his eyes and smirked down at him. He had Harry exactly where he wanted him, Harry knew that, but he didn’t care right now. “Rule three: you may share any and all information about me. If you think you know where I’ll be, by all means tell the others. But you cannot tell them where I am when I’m with you. You are my safe space.” So he expected to come back. He thought this would happen again. The thought was tantalizing, Harry had to admit that. 

Harry’s eyes wandered down on their own accord. He softly touched Gary’s chest with his fingertips, tracing the lines of his muscles, cherishing the warmth of his smooth skin under his touch. 

“Rule four: You may be off limits, but every other agent is fair game.” 

Harry pulled back his hand as if he had been burned. “What?!” He looked at Gary with fury in his eyes. 

Gary raised his eyebrow in mock-surprise. “You didn’t think…. Nooo. You’re not that naïve.” He cocked his head to the side and shook his finger, like a teacher reprimanding a pupil. “Harry! You didn’t think I ‘d extend this courtesy to all Kingsmen, did you? That isn’t fun! See, they are allowed to arrest me, but I’m allowed to fight back, am I not? Otherwise, the game would be awfully lopsided.” He sighed theatrically. “It has to be fair, Harry. You are the only exception to the rule.” 

Harry wanted to argue about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to object, not with the boy straddling him, not with the taste of his lips still on his own. So he nodded slowly, even if he didn’t like it. The rule made sense, in a way. 

Jesus, how could he think that? None of this made sense, not one bit. Still, he was oddly enthralled by this man and his weird, twisted game. He wanted to hear him out. He was curious to know how it was played. 

Gary leaned forward again, kissing Harry hard, passionately. He traced kissed over his cheek until he reached his ear. “Rule five: I won’t kill you. Ever. Unless…” his hands shot up completely unexpected, closing around Harry’s throat, squeezing tightly. He looked Harry in the eyes, and his gaze was cold, insane. Harry didn’t do anything, he was too surprised to react. The force was not enough to cut off Harry’s air supply completely, but enough for it to be alarming. Why didn’t he fight back? It should have happened on instinct. Fuck, it should have happened because he was supposed to be smart enough to know when it was time to start fighting. They locked eyes for a moment longer. Then, as suddenly as he’d started, Gary stopped. He loosened his grip, smiled innocently, and caressed Harry’s chest with his fingers. He leaned closer again, bit Harry’s earlobe teasingly, and then leaned back again, finishing his sentence as if nothing had happened. “Unless you break the rules,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. His lips touched Harry’s in a careful, almost tender manner. 

Gary’s lips were soft and warm, exactly the way they’d been last night, but somehow completely different as well. For some reason Harry was convinced the boy meant it. He wouldn’t kill him. Unless he broke the rules. 

He pulled back reluctantly. 

Gary grinned at him and stood up. He picked up his pair of slacks and put them on, going commando, and pulled his shirt over his head. He was completely unarmed. By the looks of it, at least. “Aren’t you going to walk me to your door?” he asked with a pout. 

Harry hesitated, then he got up. His coat was in the hall, which meant so were his weapons. He could end this right now. He had the skills. 

Gary cocked his head and gave him an amused look. “Harry! Yer not gonna off me the moment you get to yer guns, are ye? Would be awfully impolite, especially after I had the curtesy not to do the same to you.” He chuckled. “Besides, how yer gonna explain a dead fugitive in yer house? And my DNA in yer bed? And on your body?” he took Harry’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "And remember, it will happen either way." 

Harry pulled his hand back and rubbed his eyes. How could this be happening? He walked into the hall, all too aware he had his back turned on his… enemy? Nemesis? But like he said, Gary wasn’t interested in killing him. He simply followed Harry into the hall. When Harry walked past his coat, he subconsciously clenched his fist in frustration. The chuckle behind him told him Gary had noticed. Irritated, he opened his front door. Sadly there were no people in the hallway. Where were nosy neighbours when you needed them? 

Gary stepped outside and turned around, rocking back and forth a bit on his feet, like a boy who has just brought his date home and is not sure what to do. Harry knew the insecurity was fake. And sure enough, Gary couldn’t keep his grin contained any longer, it lit up his face in an already too familiar way.

“What happens now?” Harry asked hoarsely. 

“Now…” Gary said, and he sounded sincere and excited, “the games begin.”


	2. Tell no one (1/3)

Would it be better if he just didn’t go to work? If he just stayed in bed forever? It couldn’t possibly get worse, could it? For a moment he beat himself up over not having told Merlin yesterday that he knew the man on one of the suspect pictures. But he realised it would have done nothing. He hadn’t known for sure that Gary had been the culprit. Also, he didn’t know Gary’s last name, hell he didn’t even know if Gary was really his first name. And Gary had been in his apartment, so even if he had told Merlin, and even if they had then found Gary’s address, he wouldn’t have been home. Also, and the thought was depressing, he didn’t think Gary was kidding about ‘it’ happening with or without him. He was stuck in this bullshit situation and he had no way out. He dragged himself out of bed and took a shower. 

When he was buttoning up his shirt, his phone pinged. He took it from his nightstand, and for a moment was confused by the contact name of who sent it: “Babyboy” followed by a heart-emoji. He groaned. Gary. His phone was password-protected for Christ sake. 

He opened the text. //Come to the building where we met. Alone, please. Xx Gary//

He texted back. //Is that a rule?// He wouldn’t go if he had a choice. Though he doubted he had one. He closed his eyes, waiting for the reply. 

//Just come here, alone, so you won’t have to find out. xx// Seconds later, another text. //No kisses? Rude. xx//

He thought about it. Going there alone seemed like a really stupid thing to do, after all, if he were to get killed there it could take days, no weeks, before he was found. Especially if Gary removed his phone so Merlin wouldn’t be able to track it down, and dumped his body somewhere else. But he had to go alone, because if he brought someone else, that agent would be at risk. Harry was off-limits, the other weren’t. And one of the rules was that he couldn’t tell the others were Gary was if he was with him. “Safe space” and all that. Though he could in theory tell them where Gary would be, and have them take him out before he got there? No he couldn’t. Gary said everything would happen regardless of Harry playing along, regardless of him being alive. He wasn’t sure if it also would happen if Gary was dead. Maybe he’d manage to pry that information out of him. 

Another text. //Don’t leave me hanging, love. Just let me know if you’re coming or not. We can have breakfast  Xx//

He sighed, and texted back. //I’ll be there.// he hesitated, wondering if adding kisses to his text would put Gary in a more complying mood, but decided against it. He would not play along like this. Not in the only way he still had control. 

He was tying his shoelaces, when he got another text. //Do you have any food allergies? Like seafood? Or nuts? Haha. Nuts. But seriously? Xx//

Harry didn’t respond and stuffed his phone into his pocket. He was tired of this already, and it had only just begun. 

****

He arrived at the building and pushed open the front door, wondering if he’d find Gary on the roof again. There was a sound behind one of the doors, and Harry drew his gun immediately. He had his holster on this time, instead of keeping his guns in the inside of his coat. 

A man came out of one of the rooms. Not Gary. The man was at least fifty years old. He looked at Harry’s gun with the detached wariness of someone who’d been in this situation many times before. “There will be no need for that, mister Hart,” he said politely. “I was simply tasked with bringing you to your breakfast-date.” 

Harry put the gun back in its holster. His breakfast-date. Of course. 

“I’m sorry about this,” the man said apologetically, “but I’ll have to ask you to hand over your weapons.” 

Not unexpected, but shitty nonetheless. Harry took off his coat and jacket and handed them to the man, unclipped his holster, and exchanged it for his things. Putting them back on, he said “I was under the impression I’d be having my… breakfast-date in here.” 

The man looked shocked. “Here?” he chuckled. “Oh no, mister Hart. Not here. If you’ll follow me please?” He walked past Harry to the front door, looking over his shoulder to make sure Harry followed. 

“Are you Gary’s driver?” Harry asked. 

“It is not up to me to answer questions about my employer. I’m sure you’ll understand,” the man said with a polite, tired smile. 

“Sure,” Harry said. He wondered if the driver was paid very well, threatened, or simply really loyal. Or a combination of these. They walked for a few minutes, until they arrived at a parking lot. It was immediately obvious which car belonged to them. 

A limousine. 

Of course he would send a fucking limousine. No such thing as subtlety. It stood out like a sore thumb, standing on a parking lot surrounded by the twenty-year old cars of the local inhabitants. A street kid, around sixteen or seventeen years old stood next to the car, guarding it, probably. He wore a baseball cap and a very ugly black and yellow windbreaker. The driver handed him a stack of money, which the boy put in his pocket with an excited smile, then he ran off. The driver opened the door in the back and Harry got in. The windows were tinted, from the wrong side. Harry couldn’t see a thing outside. The partition between him and the driver was tinted as well. Harry sighed in frustration. Gary was really getting on his nerves. And yet, somewhere, he had to admit to himself he was impressed.

****

After driving for forty-three minutes, they stopped. Harry heard the driver’s door open and close, and they drove off again. Maybe he had picked something up. They drove for another ten minutes, then they stopped again and the driver’s door opened. A few seconds later, Harry’s door unlocked and opened. 

Gary grinned down at him, wearing a stereotypical chauffeur’s outfit, including the hat and gloves. He took his hat off and made a bow. “Good morning Mister Hart.” He held out his hand, which Harry ignored. 

He got out of the car and was annoyed, though not really surprised, to find they were in a garage. Gary really did his best to make sure Harry didn’t know where he was. Maybe even the driver didn’t know, seeing as Gary had apparently driven the last part of the journey. 

He looked at Gary’s clothes and was annoyed that he couldn’t tell if he was armed through the thick fabric. He forced a smile and finally said “Good morning, Gary,” trying to sound cheerful. He spread his arms and took a step towards the other man, who seemed surprised, but let himself be embraced. Harry pulled Gary tight to his chest and slid his arms down Gary’s back. He didn’t feel a holster, and there were no lumps where their chests pressed together. He knew he was giving away that he wasn’t armed himself, but that should be no surprise to Gary, seeing as Harry had been disarmed at his command. 

“You hug like you either want to fuck or kill me.” Gary said, sounding amused. 

“You are right about one of those.” Harry grumbled, and let his arms slide down even lower, bending his knees a bit so he could pat down Gary’s hips and upper legs. 

Gary didn’t seem to mind. At all. “If you want me to take my pants off, just say the word.” 

Harry pretended he didn’t hear that and let go. 

“Satisfied?” Gary asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“If you mean your lack of weapons, then yes, I am very satisfied,” Harry said, “but if you mean the fit of your suit, I must say I’m disappointed. Off the rack, isn’t it? Whoever estimated your size must think you are bigger than you actually are.” 

Gary laughed at the thinly-veiled insult. If anything, he looked pleasantly surprised at Harry’s feistiness. “Maybe you can measure me someday.” 

“Maybe.” Absolutely not. 

Gary took a step back and cleared his throat. He looked nervous, suddenly. “It’s good to see you,” he said with an unsure smile. 

Harry didn’t respond. He really didn’t feel the same. 

Gary bit the nail of his thumb, stopping immediately when he realised, and gestured for Harry to follow him. There was nothing in the garage except for the limo. Behind them were the big roller doors of the garage, and one normal door to the right, which Gary opened. It led to a kitchen, the size of which made it obvious they were in a mansion of sorts. Everything in here looked expensive and modern, from the huge, chrome fridge to the marble countertops, and the big, black wooden table, which had enough room for ten people. 

Harry glanced out the window, and saw only trees. Not much to go on in terms of where they were. He followed Gary through the kitchen to a door, which lead into a small courtyard, entirely surrounded by walls. Low benches formed a square, looking out on a fountain surrounded by flowers. It was beautiful. A blanket was spread out on the grass, with an old fashioned basket on it. Harry saw fresh fruit, buns and sandwiches. 

“I thought we could have a picnic,” Gary said, and he sounded unsure, nervous. “Unless you’d rather eat inside.” He fidgeted with his hat which he was still holding in his hands. 

Harry wasn’t sure if this was all an act. “This is fine,” he said. “Can we get to the point, please? Why’d you summon me here?” 

Gary looked taken aback. “Summoned? Harry, if you’re not here out of your own free will, I can have the driver take you back.” He looked at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry almost believed him. 

“It’s fine.” He said again, and sat down on the blanket. 

Gary bit his lip nervously and sat down. “Uuhhm… Like I said, I asked you here for breakfast.” He avoided meeting Harry’s eyes and seemed genuinely upset that Harry would not see this as a friendly invitation. Suddenly he looked up, and his eyes were cold. “But we can talk about whatever you want.” It was like he was a completely different person, and Harry wondered which version of Gary was the act, and which one was truly him. The shy guy who was afraid of heights and just wanted to have breakfast in a beautiful garden, or the version that was involved in the murder of dozens of people? “If it is my choice, I’d like to talk about why you destroyed the Tate Modern.” 

Gary scoffed. “I thought you said you didn’t like modern art.” 

Harry could just barely keep his jaw from dropping. “You can’t have put in the explosions on the day after we first talked. It exploded hours after you left. It’s not possible.” Or was it? Was it his fault? Had his little throwaway comment, which had been a joke rather than some deep admission, been the reason for the death of so many people? 

Gary frowned. “I didn’t put in the explosions. I just ordered it. And no, obviously it wasn’t done on the day after we shagged.” He crossed his arms defiantly, like a little kid that refuses to eat his supper. The food in the basket was just sitting there, untouched, but neither one of them felt like eating. “Also, and I can’t believe I have to remind you of this, since you seemed like an intelligent man, I was the one who brought up art in the first place. You just commented that you didn’t like it. And do you really think I did this for you? You’re not that fucking special to me!” Gary had left his polite side behind completely, and was now looking at Harry like he was challenging him to a duel of sorts. 

Well, Harry could play this game. “Of course YOU didn’t put in the explosions. I know people like you. You want to be this big, dangerous evil genius, but you are too afraid to get your hands dirty. You are just a kid, a small, frightened kid who is desperate for approval. I bet you vomit at the sight of blood. I bet you do not care about the people you killed because you are unable to bear the thought of them as people. It is so much easier to think of them as neat little bodies in a morgue, but that is not the truth. Those people lucky enough to not have been ripped apart by the explosion, have had their skulls mashed in by the falling building. There is nothing neat about death.” 

Gary didn’t seem impressed by his rant. “You are right,” he said with a shrug. “I do not care about the people who died. And since it seems that you DO care, this means that you haven’t found out yet who they were, cause if you did, neither would you.” 

“Who were they, then?” Harry asked.

Gary shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you everything, am I? You are the Kingsman, figure it out.” He sounded bored. 

“Why am I here?” Harry asked. He was getting really fed up with all of this. 

Gary cocked his head. “Because you chose to be.” 

For a moment, neither one of them said anything. They just stared at each other, and neither was willing to be the first to break eye contact. It was uncomfortable, like being in a fight without physically touching, yet more intimate than fighting with words. Gary’s eyes softened after a while, and while he didn’t blink, a hint of a smile started to show. Harry kept staring at him coldly. 

He was trying to piece it all together. He needed to show to Gary that he was a worthy adversary, needed to convince Gary that he knew how to play and was willing to do so. “The people in the museum,” he said, and Gary seemed to completely forget about their staring contest and nodded encouragingly, “all deserved to die. And not just by your standards, but - at least in your mind – also by mine.” 

Gary narrowed his eyes, and while Harry didn’t know if this was a sign he was on the right track or quite the opposite, he couldn’t stop now. 

“Which means they were criminals. And somehow, you managed to gather them all right there.” 

Gary started smiling, the genuinely happy smile of someone who is proud of the one who’s talking. 

“But this leaves another question open. How did you manage to convince a demolition firm to blow up the building?” 

Gary raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in a pleasantly surprised gesture, and did air pistols at Harry, winking in the process, as if to say “Exactly!”. 

So they had been right then about the demolition firm. He could build on this. “It seems unlikely that you could simply buy that kind of a service. Even the most money-hungry people will draw the line at killing, especially with a crime so specific. It can be traced back to a company fairly easily I suppose.” 

Gary pressed his lips together and moved his head from side to side, a weird mix between shaking his head and nodding. Yes and No. 

“Okay, while it is obvious that it is done by a demolition firm, finding out which one is going to be hard. At least, that’s what you think.” 

Gary laughed. “Cheeky.” He said, but it sounded approving. 

“Since they weren’t bought, that means they were pressured. You have leverage over them. But how does one hold leverage over multiple people? Have you threatened all of them individually?” he pieced it together while talking, speeding up when he realised he was getting close. “You can’t have. People are selfish, but in a group of many people, there will always be that one person who can’t be swayed by threatening them with bodily harm, or even death. A loved one however…. That proves to be a fantastic motivator time and again.” He knew from experience. Threatening someone’s wife, boyfriend or kid was always more effective than threatening the person themselves. “Let’s say it took ten people to install all the explosives. It had to be quick after all, to minimise risk of being caught. So did you find out information about ten individual people, find their pressure points, and then go to each of them, one by one, to talk them into this? Of course not. Because it only takes one person to call the police, let their kids or spouse or whatever be brought to a safe house, and rat you out. And while I do not mean to underestimate you, I cannot imagine you have ten people’s loved ones hidden in here.” 

Gary smirked. 

“So there was a common factor. A person you could use as leverage over all of them. Which means we are most likely looking for a family business.” He was smiling, he realised. Not very appropriate, keeping in mind what he was talking about, but he knew he was right, and it felt like a victory. 

Gary nodded. “Very good, Harry.” 

He shouldn’t be so proud of himself for figuring this out, he knew it. But it was something, right? This could help. He needed to tell Merlin, as soon as possible. Suddenly, he realised what he had just said. Gary wouldn’t have ten people’s loved ones here. Not if they were ten different people. One person, however…. One person was easy to kidnap. Easy to hide. Since he had only seen trees through the window, and he didn’t hear cars from here, it seemed likely they were in a very remote area. Gary hadn’t just threatened to take that person from them and kill him or her. He had already made good on part of that promise. Someone had been kidnapped, and that someone was in this house. And there was nothing he could do. Maybe when he left, he could tell Merlin. But Gary would be expecting them, and he was allowed to kill the other agents. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. 

“Do you want to meet him?” the words shook him out of his thoughts. 

“The person you kidnapped?” his mouth was dry. “Yes.” 

****

They walked back through the kitchen, into the living room, which had the same very expensive looking furniture, into a hallway, which had two doors to the right, and the front door at the end. Through every window they passed, trees were all Harry could see. The first door in the hallway had a big, wooden C attached to it. Gary knocked softly but didn’t wait for an answer. He opened the door, not wide enough for Harry to be able to see who was inside just yet. “Good morning, dear. There’s someone who wants to play with you,” he said, and opened the door completely. 

The sight of the inside of the room broke Harry's heart. There was a bunk bed with a small desk underneath it, and posters of dogs and toy cars on the wall. The bedding had robot print, and there were stuffed animals on the bed and on the floor. It was a kid’s room, full of toys and books and everything a little boy could dream of. However, the person who was sitting on the floor, curiously looking up at Harry, was not a little boy. It was a grown man. 

And Harry recognised him. 

“Charlie,” he whispered. He took a few careful steps into the room. Charlie didn’t look scared, but rather like he had no idea how to respond to this. He just sat there, with a facial expression somewhere between curiosity and utter confusion. He didn’t recognise Harry at all. The door closed behind Harry, and when he turned his head he saw that Gary had left them alone. He smiled at Charlie, who smiled back tentatively. “Is it okay if I join you?” Harry asked. Charlie nodded, but he looked at the door, not at Harry, like he would have asked for permission if Gary had still been there. Harry sat down across from Charlie, who he now saw was holding a toy car. Charlie. Charlie Hesketh. A former recruit, who dropped out at the train test. Two years ago. Harry didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think of this. He felt nothing, except pity. 

“How long have you been here?” Harry asked.

Charlie hesitated. He looked at the door again. “Two years,” he said softly. “I’m a guest.” He blinked a few times.

Two years. Right after he left Kingsman. Jesus. Did he really think he was a guest? Did he really believe that?

“Have you tried leaving in these two years?” Harry asked.

Charlie grimaced. “Why would I want to leave? I have everything I need.”

“Are you allowed to leave?” Harry pressed. 

“I have everything I need,” he repeated. His voice sounded mechanical, like he had said the phrase hundreds of times before. He was completely brainwashed, Harry realised.

“He fed you these lines,” Harry said. He felt defeated.

“He feeds me.” Charlie said confused “I have everything I need.”

This was hopeless. “Has he asked you questions about Kingsman?” Harry asked.

“Who?” 

“Gary.” 

Charlie looked confused. “Daddy?” 

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Charlie has become a kid again, he realised, and Gary was his parent.

“Did your father ask you questions about Kingsman?” he asked. It made him uncomfortable to refer to Gary as his father, but Charlie had done it, and he needed to know. 

Charlie’s expression changed. He seemed excited. “Yes.” 

“What kind of things?” 

Charlie seemed unsure. He shrugged. “The dog,” he said. “I remember the dog. And a plane. I like planes. Do you like planes? Or dogs?” 

“I do,” Harry said. This was all so messed up. So terrifying in its heartlessness. What on earth had Gary done to make Charlie like this? “Do you remember anything else he asked you?” 

“She has asked me that.” Charlie said with a frown.

What? She? “No, your father. Has he asked you-“ 

“She has asked me that, and now I’m here. I shouldn’t have talked, should you Charlie. Should have kept your mouth shut.” It was terrifying to see Charlie’s expression change into something threatening mid-sentence when he started addressing himself. 

“What was her name?” Harry asked, though he didn’t really expect an answer. 

“Roxanne, but call me Roxy.” Charlie said. He closed his eyes. 

“Roxy has asked you what you told Gar- what you told your father?” 

Charlie nodded, but didn’t open his eyes. He seemed to disappear into his own mind. His body started softly swinging back and forth. “Ye should have kept yer mouth shut.” He said softly, again talking to himself, but this time he sounded like Gary. 

This was causing Charlie pain. Him asking these things. It was bringing back memories, and hurting Charlie. Harry stood up. His heart broke at the thought of leaving Charlie behind. He would get him out of here. He had to. Somehow. “It was nice meeting you, Charlie,” he said.

Charlie nodded but didn’t say anything as Harry opened the door. 

Harry felt like he was the one holding Charlie prisoner when he closed the door behind him.

****

“You are insane!” he said. He hadn’t meant to say that. Insulting Gary was not going to help anyone, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You have been keeping him a prisoner for TWO YEARS just so you can pressure his family into something? Have you got any idea how messed up that is?” 

Gary was sitting on the couch in the living room, and looked very unimpressed with Harry screaming at him. “Says the guy with a stuffed dog in his loo.”

“The dog is dead, Gary. It’s completely different.” 

“Would it be less disturbing to you if Charlie were dead?” he asked sincerely. 

Harry clenched his fists in frustration. 

Gary frowned. “I let you talk to him as a favour. As a reward, for being on the right track. And because it’s nice for Charlie to talk to someone else for a change.” He chuckled. “That’s how it’s played, Harry. You do well, I help you.” 

Harry didn’t want to hear about the stupid game. He had to solve this, right now. “Can I make a call?” he asked. He hated that he didn’t just do it without asking for permission, but he couldn’t take the risk. It wasn’t just his life that was at stake here. He had to think of Charlie as well. 

And of the countless other lives that would be lost if Gary’s plans succeeded. The plans that Harry was supposedly able to stop. Unless he got killed for not following the rules.

“Of course!” Gary said cheerfully. He pulled a gun out of the waistband of his pants, and Harry froze. It was his own gun. “I got this out of the car when you were chatting with Charlie. Sit down.” 

Harry did. 

“Make your phone call.” Gary cocked the gun and clicked the safety off, then he pointed it right at Harry’s head. “The challenge is of course, for you to find out how to tell Kingsman this without breaking the rules.” He bit his lip teasingly. “Because if you do…” he moved his finger to the trigger and kept it there. 

Harry didn’t take his eyes off the gun as he pulled out his phone. He called Merlin, silently hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake. 

****

Roxy had been working tirelessly, gathering all security footage that might give them a clearer view of the people on their board of suspects, and checking all the possible suspects against their database.

Merlin, meanwhile, was working on the victims. Most people who had been in the Tate Modern had to be identified using DNA analysis. Various laboratories were working on it, and Merlin was hacking all of them and was putting all DNA info he was gathering into the Kingsman database. He seemed to be running on a mixture of frustration and caffeine. He hadn’t gone home at all that night. Roxy had slept for a few hours, but had returned early in the morning. 

Merlin’s phone rang. He mumbled some swearwords under his breath, and picked up. He put the phone on speaker and placed it next to his keyboard. “Merlin.” 

“Hello, it’s Harry. Have the victims been identified yet?” 

Merlin laughed in a very sarcastic manner. He was able to make everything sound sarcastic, even silence. It was a gift. “Very few. Despite what the television may tell you, DNA takes some time.” He was in a bad mood. “Why are you asking?” 

“Because the attack has still not been claimed. So if the goal was not just fearmongering or destroying property, it has to be about the people who were inside. There has to be a connection between them.” 

“Well, I do not have the names yet. Only the DNA.” 

Harry was silent for a moment. “How long would it take to check whether the DNA that was found on the scene, was already in our database?” 

Marlin frowned. “The only way it can already be there, if is it was found on a crime scene.” 

“I know. Could you run it?” Harry sounded tense, though Merlin didn’t seem to notice. 

“I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” He hung up. 

Roxy was startled when a few minutes later, Merlin made a surprised sound. “Well I’ll be damned,” he mumbled, and picked up his phone. “Harry! Of those people we have a DNA sequence of, seventy percent was in our database.” 

“Seventy percent?” Harry sounded like he almost couldn’t believe it, but also excited. “That is the bloody connection, Merlin! Almost everyone who was in there was a criminal!” 

“A criminal who got away somehow,” Merlin said. Suddenly, he turned around on his chair, looking at Roxy like he wanted her support on what he was about to say. Like he didn’t want to be the bringer of bad news, but had to be. “Harry,” he said slowly, “no one could have known this. They were OUR crime scenes. Kingsman. Not MI6. Not police. The DNA is specific to missions we have done.” 

Shit. So this was Kingsman related? The explosion hadn’t taken the life on random people, but of people who Kingsman was looking for. People who got away. 

Merlin’s face turned pale. “My servers are secure,” he said. “There has been no breach of them, ever. There is no way someone on the outside has taken a look at our information, it is not possible!” He looked at Roxy again, with wide open eyes. 

They all realised what this meant, and no one wanted to say it. Eventually, Harry was the one to speak. “Merlin, please cross-reference the names of the owners and employees of every demolition firm in the country with people within Kingsman. Including former recruits who didn’t make the cut.” 

Merlin nodded. He looked defeated. “I will,” he said softly. Then he hung up. 

****

Gary clicked the safety back on. “Very good,” he said. “You didn’t break the rules. Looks like you’ll be around to save the day!” He laughed. “Well, not the day. A person. Let’s go.” He stood up and put the gun in his waistband again. 

In any other situation, Harry would be glad that someone would do that, it made it very easy to simply steal the gun and use it against him. But with Gary, it was simply a display of how unthreatened he felt by Harry. He knew Harry wouldn’t kill him. 

Harry felt exhausted, despite solving this puzzle or whatever it was. They would find out that Charlie’s name matched with one of the firms, go talk to the family, and hopefully get them to tell Kingsman who threatened them. And they would trace Gary back to this house, he was sure of it. Charlie would be freed. All of this would be over. Or at least this particular part of it. But why had all these people been inside? How had Gary been able to find people who Kingsman couldn’t even find? How had he convinced them to go to the Tate Modern? And why had he killed them all? 

Harry stood up. “Which person?” he asked tiredly. He was afraid of the answer. 

Gary smirked. “You’ll find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be able to go on the internet for the next 10 days or so, so I decided to update now. The next update will have to wait, sorry! I hope you enjoy! Leaving comments, giving kudos, and pointing out mistakes is always appreciated!


	3. Tell no one (2/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is played, Harry needs to make a decision.

Gary:  
He found him. Years of searching, and then… then he found him. Just like that. For the first time, Gary could put a face to the half-remembered name. He looked at the posh gentleman in front of him and saw his soul. There was pain in his eyes, murder in his posture, violence in the way he breathed. He looked at the man and saw rage and pain and beauty. He felt enthralled by this man, wanted to know him, HAD to know him. He needed to know if he was right. 

Now, finally, he was about to find out. 

Harry:  
They went into the garage, and Harry got into the backseat of the car without argument. Gary, who had put his hat back on and was still wearing his ridiculous gloves, drove again. Harry wondered whether Gary would stop somewhere and let the driver take over once more, so he wasn’t surprised when they stopped after a short time. His door opened. 

Gary smiled down at him. “Time to switch cars,” he said. 

Harry wanted to get out, but Gary put his hand on his shoulder “Tut-tut. Don’t be naïve, babe.” He held out a black bag. “If you could place this on your head, please.” 

Harry sighed and took the bag. This was hopeless. But if he didn’t do it, Gary undoubtedly would. “Don’t call me babe,” he said, as he put the bag over his head and moved towards the door. The bag was soft, silk maybe, and smelled like detergent. And sadly it was completely non-transparent. 

“Thank yooou, babeeee” Gary sing-songed. He gently took Harry’s hand and put his free hand on Harry’s head to keep him from bumping his head on top of the car, the way police officers did with suspects. Was this a habit of his? Was Gary a trained policeman? Or had he been in the back of a police car often enough to adopt this gesture? Gary seemed young, around twenty-five, so it didn’t seem likely he was an officer. 

Harry ducked his head and put his feet on the ground, and Gary pulled him up, with more gentleness than he had a right to, considering the circumstances. He expected Gary to let go of his hand now that he was standing up, but Gary didn’t. He only moved the hand that had been on Harry’s head to his waist. It reminded Harry of the games that were sometimes played at children’s birthday parties, where one kid had to lead a blindfolded kid over some obstacles. It was strange, to walk without seeing, especially since he had every reason to distrust the person leading him. Yet he walked confidently, without hesitation. 

“I’m going to open the car door for you now, Harry.” Gary said, and let go of his hand. He led Harry into the car the same way, with his hand on his head to keep him from injuring himself. “Please do not remove your bag until I say so,” he said, in the same tone of voice an airport attendant might ask a customer to remove his shoes and any metal objects; as if they both knew it was a very obvious statement, but he was obliged to say it anyway. Then Gary closed the door and got into the car himself. 

****

“So, where are we going?” Harry asked. 

Gary rolled his eyes. “So impatient.” Gary had parked the car in some parking lot, a white Ford Fiesta as it turned out when Harry finally was allowed to remove his bag and got out. “Less eye-catching,” Gary said with a shrug. “Follow me, please.”

They walked through a very expensive looking neighbourhood, where the houses were big and showy, and most had a fence. Gary walked up the driveway of one of the houses without fence, which did have a security panel next to the door. Gary confidently punched in the code and opened the door. 

Harry followed him into the hallway. “Is this your house?” he asked. Either Gary was really rich, or the house they had been to earlier wasn’t his. There had been no personal things anywhere. Except for Charlie’s room. Harry tried not to think about that. 

Gary chuckled. “You’ll find out.” He walked up a flight of stairs and opened a door to a bedroom. In the middle of the room, bound to a chair and with a gag in his mouth, was a man. It took Harry a moment to realise who he was looking at. Carlton Wealer. The right-wing politician they had talked about the first night they met. Harry almost couldn’t believe that it had only been less than two days since he met Gary. So much had happened in the last two days. 

So much had changed. 

Wealer’s eyes widened when Gary walked in, and he looked from Gary to Harry and back again, while he was struggling against the ropes and making panicky sounds. 

“Ssssh,” Gary said in a soothing voice that did nothing to calm his prisoner. “It’s alright. Harry is here to save you.” He winked at Harry. “Maybe,” he added with a grin. 

“It’s his house…” Harry whispered, more to himself than to the others.

Nonetheless, Wealer nodded while trying to speak, but the gag prevented it. There was something like hope in his eyes. Hope and fear and pleading, all at once. 

“Kill him,” Gary said, and held the gun out to Harry.

Even though Harry didn’t take it, Wealer started screaming and sobbing, muffled by the gag. He tried to move his arms, but they were tied behind his back and his legs were tied to the legs of the chair. He could barely move half an inch to either side.

The sight of his own gun being offered to him to kill someone made Harry feel weary. It bothered him that once again Gary seemed very confident that Harry would not use the gun on him. The reason why was obvious, but Gary repeated his reasons nonetheless. “If you kill me, everything will still happen the way I intended. But if you kill him, they may not. It’s up to you.” He looked at the sobbing mess in front of them for a moment, then he gave Harry a curious look. “Must be a hard decision for a good person like you.”

Harry wasn’t sure, but it sounded almost like Gary was being sarcastic. Like he was trying to get a rise out of him. “I think you overestimate how good of a person I am.” he said. He meant it. 

Gary seemed satisfied with that answer. “Remember that, Harry Hart. Remember that.” His voice was like ice, but he didn’t look at Harry, opting to smirk at Wealer. 

Harry didn’t know what he meant by that, but didn’t want to ask either. 

“What exactly will happen?” Harry asked. He realised that he was essentially asking if the murder would be worth it, but he needed to know. Kill one, save a thousand, that kind of thing. Had he not done that in the past? With every mission he had done with Kingsman, he had been faced with this choice. Why would it be different now? 

The answer was simple, of course. It was different now, because Harry wasn’t in direct danger. And while he was sure that it would be better if Wealer was not around, he didn’t believe cold blooded murder was the solution. While Wealer was notorious for being a racist piece of shit, he wasn’t worth murdering. Sure, he wanted Wealer gone from the political landscape, but killing him was not the way to go. Harry couldn’t do it. Or rather, he could, but he didn’t want to. Not in the last place because Gary wanted him to. But also because he had never killed a person when it wasn’t self-defence, or protecting others. He had never hurt someone who was in such an disadvantage: tied to a chair, unable to defend himself. Someone who was obviously so scared. Harry wondered how long Wealer had been here. 

Gary’s eyes started gleaming. “Oooh, Harry! You’re devious!” He laughed. “You are saying there is a line, some magic number of people you could save that will outweigh the murder of this man?” He gestured at Wealer, who was struggling against the ropes harder than before, to no avail. “Should I tell you?” Gary asked teasingly. He bit his lip and looked at Harry like he was weighing his options. “Now I wonder what could possibly be bad enough to make you kill him. Where do you draw the line? The death of two people? Three? Ten? Or would you only kill him if there is a person you know involved?” His pupils dilated when he said that, as if the prospect of killing a friend of Harry was exciting for him. 

It probably was. 

Harry’s phone rang, in what was either the best or the worst timing ever. 

With a cheerful expression, Gary aimed the gun at Harry again. “Remember, not a word,” he grinned. 

Harry answered the phone, hoping that it was good news. 

“Harry,” Merlin said, sounding grim. “I have checked every damn demolition firm in not only England, but also all of Ireland, Wales and Scotland, and there is no match.” 

Harry’s heart sank. How was that possible? When he had told Merlin to check this, Gary had said ‘Very good’. He was right. He had to be!  
But then he thought back to that moment and realised he had made a mistake. Gary had said ‘Very good. You didn’t break the rules.’ He hadn’t confirmed it at all. Harry had just been so sure of it, that he had taken this statement as a confirmation.  
But he’d been wrong. And this meant they wouldn’t find Gary. Perhaps even more heart-breaking, they wouldn’t find Charlie. 

He had failed him. 

“Okay Merlin,” he said, and he knew he sounded defeated. “Thank you anyway.” 

Merlin grunted something and hung up. 

Harry did as well, feeling utterly devastated. How could he have been so bloody wrong?

Gary put the gun in his waistband again. “Something wrong?” he asked innocently. 

Harry shook his head. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You asked where I would draw the line. What it would take for me to kill Wealer.” 

Wealer made a desperate noise, which Harry ignored. 

“Add Charlie to the mix, and you might find out.” Harry tried. He wasn’t sure it was a smart move, but he had to get Charlie out, and this could turn out to be the only way. 

Gary raised his eyebrows. “You’ll kill Wealer if I promise to free Charlie?” he seemed surprised. 

Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t know the answer himself. “What will happen?” he asked again. 

Wealer’s breaths sped up. His eyes rolled back in his head. He was having a panic attack. 

Harry ignored it, and somehow he could not feel bad about it. The things Wealer had said roamed around in his mind, one absurd and racist comment after another. The hurtful things about every race and ethnicity except whites that he had said under the guise of freedom of speech. The fact that he wanted to send more troops to ‘the middle east’, not even specifying which countries, to ‘eliminate the threat’ these ‘underdeveloped people’ posed. The fact he had refused to shake hands with a black women, and made up a lame excuse for it. The fact that despite, or rather because all of this, people would actually vote for him. 

“Telling you would be cheating.” Gary said. He sounded amused. “But I’m in a good mood, so sure, let’s ‘Add Charlie to the mix’ as you put it.” He scratched his head with the gun, something that went so badly against every bit of gun safety that Harry audibly gasped. 

“Oops,” Gary said, and looked at the gun looking both unperturbed and embarrassed at the same time. He blushed a bit. “The safety was on though,” he said. It sounded apologetic, like he wanted to show his mistake wasn’t that serious. He was like a kid, desperate for approval. He cleared his throat, and his eyes went cold again. It still was haunting how easily he could switch between shy and confident, between looking small and as if he had everything in control. The thing was, he was ALWAYS in control, and Harry couldn’t afford to let himself forget that, no matter how awkward Gary behaved, no matter how unsure he pretended to be. Harry couldn’t let his guard down and let himself be fooled by this act. Allowing it to get to him might just get Wealer killed. Gary looked at Harry with this cold, blank expression. “Charlie,” he said, sounding bored “will die if Wealer doesn’t.” 

“What?! No! That was not what I meant!” Everything was turning to shit. “I meant, if I kill Wealer-“ he ignored the sounds coming from the man himself “you free Charlie!” 

Gary rolled his eyes. “And I will. But if you don’t… it goes both ways, Harry. I thought that was fairly obvious by now.” 

Harry’s mind was racing. He couldn’t be sure if Charlie had been part of the deal before as well, maybe this was just Gary trying to make him feel bad, but even the possibility that he had caused this made his stomach clench painfully and made it feel like there was ice water in his veins. He had to fix this somehow. What did Gary want? What did he want more than anything else? What could Harry give him, that might make him reconsider his position? 

“How about this,” he did his best not to sound pleading, and only succeeded a little. He took a deep breath to calm himself, hoping he wasn’t overstepping a line here, or underwhelming Gary with something he had no interest in. “I take you to dinner. You and me. Or we could go to a museum.” The thought of the Tate Modern reduced to ruins crossed his mind, and he tried to shake it off. 

Gary pursed his lips and cocked his head, considering his proposal. 

“We go on a date, and just have a great time. And you free Charlie.” That way he wouldn’t have to kill Wealer to free Charlie. He still had to find out what the other things were that would happen if he didn’t, but maybe he could exchange that for something as well. 

Gary narrowed his eyes. “We went on a date this morning, and you made it clear you didn’t want to be there.” Was the hurt in his voice genuine? The sadness in his eyes, was it sincere? 

Harry managed to smile apologetically. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was in a bad mood, I’ll admit that.” His mind was searching for an excuse, and landed on “I get cranky when I’m nervous.” 

For a moment, nothing happened. Gary avoided eye contact, and looked at the ground, biting his lip in thought. Then his unsure smile was back, and colour crept up his cheeks. He looked up at Harry. “You were nervous?” He shuffled his feet, and almost scratched his head with the gun again, but caught himself in time. He chuckled in embarrassment, and cleared his throat again. 

“Yes,” Harry said, swallowing hard. “Let me make up for this morning. It will be fun, alright?” 

Gary rubbed his chin, contemplating it. He had many of these nervous gestures; the lip-biting, the scratching his head, looking at the ground, clearing his throat. It was hard to think of all these little tics as just an act, but he had to. Gary was good. Harry just had to try to be better.  
“So you’re saying... that I let Charlie go… and you’ll take me on a date?” his shy smile would have melted Harry’s heart just a few days before. 

Harry nodded. “Wherever you want to go.” 

Gary was really blushing now. Harry wondered if something like that could be faked. “I like that,” Gary said, avoiding eye contact once more and clearing his throat. Then he grinned, and clapped his hands excitedly, becoming the Other Gary again. “Babe?” 

“Don’t call me babe.” 

“Despite this deal, there is something that might persuade you to pull the trigger anyway.” Gary sounded excited, like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

A sense of dread came over Harry immediately. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that there is another person you should meet.” 

****

They left Wealer behind, and in the hallway Gary put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Harry? Before we go in, I want to make it clear that the choice is yours. However, you either kill both, or you kill neither. Both die, or both walk. No middle ground. Okay?”

“Okay.” Oh God. Who was it going to be? 

Gary opened another door, revealing a very similar scene. On a chair in the middle of the room, there was a person, tied up and gagged, but not blindfolded. 

Harry didn’t recognise him at first, but when he did, rage came over him in a way he had never experienced before. Very slowly, he took the few remaining steps towards the person, satisfied that the man’s faked neutral expression indicated that he hadn’t recognized Harry yet. He would soon enough. “Well, well…Clyde Harris. What a pleasant surprise.” Harry didn’t care he sounded like the villain in a B-movie. He only cared about the surprise that was rapidly taking over Harris’ face. 

Harris wasn’t used to people knowing his name. 

Harry could hear Gary chuckle behind him, and turned his head to look at him briefly. “How did you do it?” he asked. There were so many questions he could’ve asked. How did Gary know that from all the people in the world, Clyde Harris was the one Harry desired to find the most? Did he know the reasons? Did he know what Clyde had done? But the answer to all these questions was fairly obvious; the leak within Kingsman, whoever it was, had told him. Clyde Harris was one of those criminals who was for some reason untouchable. One of those men who always got away somehow. Who was always a step ahead. 

Until now. 

Gary gave him a proud look and shrugged, as if to say that the ‘how’ didn’t matter. Like it had been an easy feat. 

To be honest, Harry didn’t actually care how he did it. He turned to Clyde again and slowly moved his hand to the man’s hair. “You are so close, I can touch you now,” Harry whispered. 

Hearing his own words repeated back to him made Clyde’s surprise turn to downright panic within less than a second. 

Harry could see it in his eyes, the exact moment Clyde realised who this man was. The exact moment he realised he was fucked. 

Harry softly stroked Clyde’s hair. “So soft,” he mumbled, in the American drawl of the southern states. The accent that had haunted his dreams ever since he woke up in a slaughterhouse, surrounded by meat hooks with corpses on it. No animals. People. 

Children. 

Blinking against the bright light, Harry had thought – no, hoped against hope- that it was a nightmare. But the smell was too real. The chill of the cooled environment was too real. And the voice that was whispering behind him was too real. “You are so close, I can touch you now.” He had only known it was a man. And then the man who had spoken had stepped around Harry, who only then realised he was tied up and gagged, and had shown his face. 

Clyde Harris. Rumoured dead. Less rumoured child-murderer. Who turned out to be not dead. And now was a confirmed child-murderer. 

Harris had stroked his hair and whispered “So soft…”. Then he had left. 

Harry had lost track of time. He tried not to, but kept looking at one of the corpses on the hook. He recognised the face. Harriet Maler, a little girl who had gone missing a week prior. There had been posters with her face all over the state, her parents had been on the news daily, asking people to call in with tips, repeating again and again that they still had hope. Kingsman had feared she had fallen into the hands of Harris, and they had been right. And they were too bloody late.

The only way Harry could guess how many days had passed, was by keeping track of how much the bodies had rotted since he got there. He thought he was being drugged, he thought it somewhere in the back of his mind, the small part of his mind that was not yet defeated. And then he knew it for sure: he woke up and there was a feeding tube in his throat, and he recognised the feeling and he knew suddenly how he could still be alive despite having been there for days. He didn’t want to know what he was eating. 

When Harry woke up again, for the tenth, twentieth or hundredth time, Harriet’s body was gone. Replaced by another little girl. He didn’t fall asleep after that. Hours after waking, Kingsman raided the building, going on an anonymous tip about the whereabouts of Harriet. She was never found. 

Harry spend a week recovering from the copious amount of drugs that were found in his system, and months from the emotional shock. As it turned out, the voice who had left the tip was Harris. Kingsman did everything they could to find him again, but Harry knew he would never see him again. 

He had given up. Until now. 

Gary appeared to Harry’s side. He took Harry’s hand, and Harry didn’t pull back. He stared at Clyde, the face of his nightmares, and felt invincible. Oh, how the tables had turned. 

“Babe?” 

Harry tore his eyes away from the fear in Harris’ eyes. “Yes?”

“It’s time to make a decision.”


	4. Tell no one (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has to make a decision.

He didn’t want to kill Wealer. He might disagree with him on almost everything, but the guy had a family. He was not like Clyde Harris, not a ruthless killer. Why should he meet his end in the same way? Harry had made a deal for Charlie, now he had to find a way to keep Gary from doing whatever it was he had threatened to do, while not killing Wealer. He had no problems with killing Harris. He deserved it. Oh, he deserved it so much. 

And Harry would enjoy it. He would enjoy the fear, and the pleading, and the feeling of having the upper hand this time around. Killing Harris would be easy. It would be fun.

But first…

He squeezed Gary’s hand and looked him in the eyes. While he was always searching for clues about Gary’s mood in them, he realised now that he had never noticed their colour before; a perfect shade of green-blue, like moss and the ocean combined. Without wanting to, he smiled at Gary, who looked at him expectantly. It wasn’t the teasing look Harry had gotten used to, the look that was meant to provoke and get a decision out of him. It was curiosity. Gary wondered what he would do, and Harry could only join that sentiment. He had no clue either. Had he taken the time to gather his wits, he wouldn’t have done the following, but Gary looked so beautiful, the way he smiled and his eyes twinkled, so before he could stop himself, Harry leaned in to kiss him. Gary almost pulled back in surprise, Harry could tell by the way his eyes followed Harry’s movement with suspicion, like he wasn’t sure what all of this meant. Harry wasn’t sure either, but he didn’t care, he just knew that it felt right. Their lips met in a careful, light touch, hardly more than the feeling of a breeze. 

For a moment after Harry’s lips touched his, Gary didn’t move at all, frozen in surprise. Then he tilted his head up ever so slightly, and kissed back. Harry let go of Gary’s hand and put both arms around Gary’s waist instead. Gary squeezed his arms in between their bodies so he could move them up and wrap them gently around Harry’s neck. They kissed with confidence now, not caring that there was a tied up serial killer watching them. There was gratitude in the kiss, and desire and a promise for more. Gary’s ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, his fingernails lightly scratched the skin on his neck, making Harry shiver. Harry felt Gary’s strong muscles under his hands, traced the line of his spine down and up again, while deepening the kiss. Their tongues met playfully, explored each other, tasted each other. Their lips fit so perfectly Harry couldn’t imagine ever kissing other lips again. 

Eventually Gary was the first one to let go. He opened his eyes and looked up at Harry, blinking as if looking at a bright light. His pupils were blown and he was out of breath, just like Harry. He took an awkward step back. 

Harry gently cupped Gary’s cheek, noticing how hot the skin felt under his touch, and smiled at him, getting the adorable unsure smile in return. “Do you mind if I talk to Harris for a while? Alone?” Harry mumbled, taking a step forward and pressing a small kiss to the corner of Gary’s mouth. The smile on Gary’s face widened. Harry leaned back a bit and looked Gary in the eyes, waiting for an answer. 

Gary was blushing and rubbing his cheeks, to hide the blush perhaps, and nodded. Without saying anything, he left the room and closed the door behind him. 

Harry looked at the closed door for a moment, pushing everything that had just happened to the back of his mind – he could revisit it later, analyse it and beat himself up about it no doubt - but for now he didn’t need his feelings of…. Of whatever it was he felt for Gary. 

Right now he only needed his anger, and that was an emotion he always found easy to access, it was something that was always bubbling under the surface, just waiting for him to let it out. His feeling of happiness disappeared at his command. He could feel his eyes glaze over with cold rage. 

Good. 

Exactly what he wanted. 

What he needed. 

He took the few remaining steps towards Harris, enjoying this feeling of absolute power he had. “I can make this slow,” he said, stopping in front of Harris, so close their knees were touching. “Or I can draw it out. The way you did with so many of the girls you killed.” 

Gary still had his weapons, but Harry didn’t need guns to kill someone. It would be more cathartic this way. With his hands on Harris’ throat, slowly squeezing the life out of him, feeling his heartbeat speed up first in the panic that comes with struggling for air, and then slowly feeling it slow down until it stopped completely. Or standing behind Harris and putting his hands on either side of his face, like a lovers caress, and then snapping his neck in one swift motion. Or he could make his heart stop – oh, there were so many ways he could make his heart stop. None of them required guns or knives, or even real physical strength. One only had to know where to hit. And Harry knew. He knew it so well. 

He was itching to make a move, but he kept himself under control. He slowly removed the gag from Harris’ mouth, feeling he didn’t need to explain what would happen if Harris screamed. It was clear. And if it wasn’t, it would be soon enough. “Clyde Harris,” he said again, “that’s quite the pickle you find yourself in, isn’t it?” 

Harris looked at him with anger. Harry recognised the particular kind of hostility he was displaying. Like so many people, Clyde took pride in how he died. Stupid, yes, but he would want to have the last word. He would try to provoke Harry, even if that meant his short lifespan got even shorter. It was his own version of dying with dignity. “So you never DID find Harriet, did you?” he smirked. 

Harry smirked back. “I have something much better. I’ve got YOU. And by the end of this conversation, not only will I know where you buried Harriet’s remains, I will also know the location of every other girl you let disappear.” He poked his index finger into Clyde’s forehead. “It might be best if you start talking” he whispered. He pulled back his finger with a mixture of disgust and surprise, and looked at the thick skin-coloured crème on the fingertip.  
It was foundation. Well, wasn’t this a stunning turn of events? 

He grinned at Harris, not even trying to hide the sheer sense of victory he felt, and used the gag, still damp from Harris own spit, to wipe his face clean. Almost every inch of Harris’ face was covered in bruises. Harry even unbuttoned the top two buttons of Harris’ shirt to confirm to himself what he already knew. Harris’ entire body had been subjected to violence, and all of it had been expertly covered up. Interesting. “It seems someone else wanted to know the same thing.” Harry said with a smirk. “But did you answer?” 

Harris pressed his lips into a straight line, then he grinned again. “How long until he turns on you as well? Harry Hart?” 

Harry shrugged. “It’s shame you won’t be there to witness it. What did he promise you then?” he realised the answer while he asked it, and chuckled. “Oh Clyde… he promised you me, is that it? And you fell for it, you dumb idiot.” He laughed out loud now, a laugh he almost didn’t recognise as his own, menacing and scary and joyless. 

“Your time will come,” Clyde said bleakly, but the effect was destroyed by his face looking like an apple that had been left to rot for too long. 

Harry pulled a semi-shocked face, stuffed the gag back into Harris mouth, grinned at him again, and opened the door to the hallway. It startled Gary, who had been leaning against the wall across from the door with a dreamy expression on his face, and now looked at Harry in confusion and with perhaps a bit of worry. “Everything alright?” he asked. 

Harry closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall next to Gary, looking at him. “Everything is fine,” Harry reassured him. “I just removed a layer of make-up from Harris’ face that would put an American sitcom-soccermom to shame.” 

Gary started grinning, he knew what was coming. “And he looks like someone took a baseball-bat to his face. Repeatedly.” 

“Oops,” Gary said, and managed to make even that non-word sound sarcastic. 

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched up on their own accord. He tried to look serious, but couldn’t hide this weird sense of pride or relief or whatever it was that he was feeling. “My question is, did you find out? The locations of the bodies? I’m assuming that’s what you wanted to know when you started turning his face to a pulp.” 

Gary sighed dramatically. “Not really,” he said evasively. “But he did tell me, yes.” 

“Why did you cover up his bruises?” 

Gary put his tongue between his lips and moved it up and down a bit, like a snake tasting the air. Then he made a who-cares-face and shrugged exaggeratedly. “I thought you wanted to have some fun with him. Unused canvas and all that.” He shrugged again. 

He didn’t really need a reason. That was it. “That is very…. Considerate of you.” Harry said. It was unsettling, or rather, he knew he should find it unsettling, but he didn’t. He understood. That was another thing he didn’t really want to think about. Not right now anyway. “But you have the locations. All of them?” He had to be sure. 

Gary nodded slowly. “I think so. All the murders Kingsman knew about, plus two no one would care about.” To Harry’s questioning look he sighed and made a vague gesture with his arm, rolling his eyes, “prostitutes. Before he moved into the ages-twelve-and-under category.” 

Harry nodded. “Alright,” he said softly. So Gary had gotten all information out of him. There was no point in doing the same thing a second time. There were no secrets left to spill, and while Harry would have done whatever he had to to get Clyde to talk, knowing he already had talked made violence redundant. He would simply end it, clean and fast. A courtesy Clyde never gave his victims. But that, Harry mused, was the difference, wasn’t it? Between agent and killer. Between good and bad. 

Suddenly Gary laughed out loud, a shrill sound that didn’t fit him at all. “You seem to think I will share the locations with you.” 

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “What?” 

Gary’s eyes were wide open, fixed on Harry without a trace of warmth. “Now, mister Harry Hart, why would I do that?” 

****

Roxy:  
Something was bothering her. She knew something was wrong, but couldn’t put a finger on it. Yet. Harry had sounded distressed again when Merlin told him they hadn’t found a connection. But that wasn’t it. It was something about Merlin. She felt like he had made a mistake, like he had missed something obvious, and it was just out of reach for her mind to grasp. 

She thought back on everything Merlin had done in the past hour. He had gone through the records and checked the last name of every former or current Kingsman and recruit against the names of every employee of every demolition firm in the United Kingdom…. It seemed waterproof, right? She rubbed her eyes tiredly. There was something all of them were missing, and she felt like she of all people should realise what it was. Like it was specific to her… Her mind drifted away, and she realised it was her mum’s birthday tomorrow. She’d have to buy a present some other time, there was no way she could leav- 

Mums. 

“Oh!” She said excitedly, startling Merlin, who turned around with a worried expression. 

That was it. Mums. 

“Merlin! What if the owner of the demolition firm is a woman? A woman who has kept her own last name? Or the opposite, the Kingsman or recruit we are looking for has taken his mum’s last name, while the names of the demolition firm are all the father’s last name? Maiden names, Merlin! That’s what we’ve been missing!” 

Merlin’s jaw dropped. “Holy…” he said, and turned to his computer again. “I’m checking them against the next-of-kins,” he said, and went to work. 

So the bodybag-scare-technic would come in handy after all. Roxy felt excited, even if she wasn’t sure yet this was actually the solution. Still, she was proud that she had noticed. She shifted uncomfortably on her chair, too nervous to do any work, and just looked at Merlin as his fingers flew over the keyboard. After a few minutes he turned around, looked at her with amazement and said “You were bloody right!” Roxy could just keep from squealing excitedly. This was not the time nor the place to be happy. It meant that there was a leak within Kingsman, and that was some seriously bad news. “Who is it?” she asked, dreading the answer. 

Merlin’s expression went from happy to grim. He sighed. “Charlie Hesketh. Father’s name Arling-Smith. Mother’s name Hesketh. Owners of demolition firm Arling-Smith.” 

****

He answered the phone, not sure what he wanted to hear. He was careful to keep his expression neutral, so Gary wouldn’t know what news he was receiving. “Harry. It was Charlie. His family owns a demolition firm.” “Thank you, Merlin. I will call you back later.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I’m needed at work,” he said. 

Gary raised his eyebrow. “Better speed this up then,” he said, motioning towards the door behind which Harris was waiting and in the direction of the door behind which Carlton Wealer was silently praying for his life. 

Harry, however, had no intention of ‘speeding it up’. Quite the contrary. Merlin making this discovery meant they were really close to finding Charlie. And while it had never been his intention to kill Wealer, he now had even more reason to renegotiate. Harry had the upper hand, for now. Because Gary didn’t know that they had found out. 

Harry would have to make a deal for Wealer instead of Charlie. Somehow. But he couldn’t let Clyde walk. He simply couldn’t. 

He cocked his head in the same way Gary did so often, a motion that indicated a change in behaviour. “I’ve changed my mind.” he said.

Gary’s eyes narrowed, though he tried not to let his surprise show. 

“I don’t care about Charlie. He’s completely brainwashed. He’ll never function normally again. What’s the point in freeing him? So here’s my proposal: We go on a date, and instead of freeing Charlie, you tell me the location of the bodies. Of Harriet and the others that were never found.” It was a bold move, but it could be his only chance at closure for the families. And if he was being honest, also for himself. With Clyde dead, they would never find the bodies. He couldn’t let that happen. 

Gary shrugged. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” He gestured towards both doors. “Pick your first victim.” 

“I won’t” Harry said. “I will not kill Wealer. Name your price, I’ll pay it. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.” 

“Maybe you weren’t listening earlier,” Gary said, sounding pissed off, “but I said it’s either both or neither. You are going to let Harris get away because you don’t want to kill Carlton fucking Wealer?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you not want to kill Carlton Wealer?” 

Harry was taken aback by the question. “Because… Because I have no reason to want him dead.” 

Gary raised an eyebrow in genuine disbelief. “Are you kidding me? Just because he hasn’t personally done anything to you, you think he is somehow more worth living than Clyde? Clyde has shown you mercy, hasn’t he? He let you go!” he was furious. “How many lives will Wealer take if troops are sent away? How many young men will die?” He took a step towards Harry. “But you don’t care about that, do you?” 

“I do care,” Harry argued. He was offended at the implication, but something told him this ran deep with Gary, so he didn’t want to push it. “I just don’t think I can murder him in cold blood.” 

Gary furrowed his brows in genuine confusion. “Why not?” The question suddenly gave Harry the answer he needed, he knew the angle he had to try. That of the student. He sighed, like he was defeated, and could only hope he was a convincing actor. “I guess I still have too much caring in me. These thing are deeply ingrained, you know. I’ve always been taught, in my training, and in the morale of society and whatnot, that one doesn’t kill unless it’s personal.” He looked apologetically at Gary, who still looked confused. “What I’m saying is…” he rubbed his face, as if embarrassed, and avoided eye contact, “that I’m not there yet. Be patient with me, Gary. Please.” He had to frame it like there was a possibility for improvement, like he respected Gary and the things he did, like he wanted to be able to do so as well. Like he wanted Gary to teach him.

Gary hesitated for a moment. “You want…” he stopped and seemed lost for a moment. Then his eyes drifted towards the door behind which Wealer was waiting. He looked at Harry again. The joyful look in his eyes made Harry think that for one reason or another, Gary felt like he was at an advantage right now. Harry didn’t like that one bit. “But you can kill Harris, right?” The casual tone of the question made Harry feel uneasy. He kept his act up of the unsure student, and nodded tentatively. “I have never done it with an audience, but…” he paused for the effect, “I can try.” 

A grin started to spread on Gary’s face. “You don’t have to off Wealer,” he said, as if he was talking about Harry not having to take an umbrella since it was going to be sunny out. “But in return…” the grin turned into an excited smile, “I want you to come with me. On a mission.” 

That didn’t sound too bad, which made Harry think it probably was just that: really bad. “Will I have to kill someone on that mission?” 

Gary smiled. “Depends on whether we get caught or not.” His eyes drifted over Harry’s body in an admiring way, “so probably not.” 

That was a relief. Even if he didn’t know what the mission was, it seemed like a bloody good deal. And if the mission was dangerous, maybe that would even mean that Gary would… Harry realised that the prospect of Gary dying wasn’t the relief he thought it would be. He added that to his list of things he had to think about later. 

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’ll do it.” 

“Good,” Gary said cheerfully. He nodded towards the door where Clyde Harris was. 

Harry closed his eyes. Harriet’s face looked down at him, lifeless, cold, familiar. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Without saying a word, he walked past Gary and opened the door. For the first time in his life, he was going to kill a man who was not able to defend himself. And he knew he should feel bad about that, but he had accepted his own darkness a long time ago. One had to, in this line of work. He had to be able to distinguish between what was right and what was just, and Clyde Harris had killed countless girls, none of whom had been able to defend themselves either. It was justice for Harriet, for Sophia, for Emma. For all of them. Clyde looked up at him, and there was no fear in his eyes, or anger or hope. Silent tears were welling up in his eyes. He had given up. 

“We will find them,” Harry said, allowing himself that little piece of boasting. “I will make it quick,” he said, surprising himself. He wasn’t sure why he would reassure a serial killer, but something in him was grateful that he did. It meant he hadn’t lied before. There was still good in him. 

Harris nodded almost unnoticeably and closed his eyes. 

Harry took a deep breath and snapped Clyde Harris’ neck in one easy movement. The crushing of bone under his fingers didn’t give him satisfaction, or joy. But it gave him closure, and that was a silver lining he was more than willing to take. 

Clyde’s body stayed upright, held back by the ropes. Only his head slumped down in an awkward angle. Harry knew right there that he would never have nightmares about Harris again. Years of anguish were over with one movement of his hands. 

When he took his eyes off the lifeless body in the chair and turned around, Gary was standing in the doorway, looking at Harry as if he had just witnessed the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

*****

For once, things were actually going right. Harry had left Wealer’s house and walked for an hour in an attempt to clear his mind. Then he had taken a cab the rest of the way to headquarters. He had only had to endure one sarcastic comment from Merlin about his tardiness (“Harry. How nice of you to join us.”), then Roxy had announced that she had found the address of the house where the Arling-Smith family was currently residing, and that Percival and Tristan were already on their way there. 

Harry wished he could have gone there too, but didn’t want to bring it up. Merlin might ask WHY he was so late, and Harry didn’t want to lie to his best friend. So Harry finally did his paper work from his last mission, while waiting for Percival and Tristan to return. Merlin was still working on the DNA that was found, adding more and more identities to the list of dead people. Almost all of them were criminals. Harry wondered again how Gary had managed to do it. How had he found all of them? And Clyde Harris? 

Meanwhile, Roxy was doing her best to get a clearer look at one particular frame of security-footage from within the Tate Modern. There were several hours missing of the tape from a night two months ago. Just one frame of these hours was still there. Gary had done that deliberately, no doubt. It showed demolition-workers, wearing blank overalls and masks. Unidentifiable. Was this the reason Gary hadn’t agreed when Harry said it would be easy to find the demolition firm? Because Gary knew the workers had worn clothes without their logo? And because he knew that searching Charlie’s name wouldn’t give them the firm?

When he finished his paperwork, Harry was sent on some bullshit-mission to accompany some important person’s son for his trip to some government building. “Arthur’s orders,” Merlin said apologetically, and went back to work.  
Harry read the file. Since the Tate Modern had exploded many people had gotten afraid that there was terrorism involved, and rich people tended to believe that their children would be next. It was stupid, but it was also how Kingsman got most of their money these days. He didn’t have his guns; Gary had given him a dismissive look when he asked for them back before leaving, but he wasn’t expecting trouble, so he didn’t mind going without. When he finally delivered the young man home to his dad, it was too late to go back to the shop. He would have to hear what Tristan and Percival had to say tomorrow. 

****

He had just taken off his shoes when the doorbell rang. He was suddenly more aware than ever that he didn’t have his guns. He approached the front door, careful to not make a sound, and looked through the door viewer. Gary. Of course. He opened the door. 

“Hi babe!” Gary said, but it sounded forced. Harry immediately noticed he had one hand in his jacket, probably on his gun, so Harry reflexively tried to shut the door. Gary put his foot between the door, a movement that made him clench his jaw in pain. He was doubled over a bit, his breath was ragged, and his eyes rolled back a bit when he said ““Harry! I’m not going to shoot you! I…” a sob drowned out the rest of the sentence and he closed his eyes and doubled over even more. 

Harry opened the door again. “What is wrong?” he asked alarmed. 

Gary just stood there for a moment, trying to control his breathing, still with his hand in his jacket. Then he slowly pulled his hand out, and the sight of it made cold shivers run down Harry’s spine. It was covered in blood. 

Gary looked up at Harry with tears in his eyes. “I’m dying, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this was very conversation-heavy and complicated, but it was needed to set other things up. Next chapter will be less ~plotty~ and more fun :) (I hope).
> 
> I hope you liked it! As always, pointing out mistakes is much appreciated, and I love reading your comments!


	5. You are my safe space (1/2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are jumps in perspective in this one. If that makes the story unclear, or if you simply don't like it, please let me know :)

He had been betrayed once again. Looking down at the dead bodies in front of him, he felt hurt. And hurt made him feel rage. ‘Sorry Harry,’ he whispered. ‘Looks like someone broke the rules.’ He left the knife behind, but took the gun with him. He wouldn’t use the knife to kill his betrayer. That kind of murder was too personal, and once betrayed, he didn’t care about that person anymore. The gun would do. Very nicely.  
However, he was really looking forward to that date Harry was going to take him on. The murder would have to wait. He had time. He had patience. His time would come. 

Suddenly, flaming pain hit him and his thoughts became unclear - vision blurry - pain so much pain, he looked down and saw the blood, his blood, he had been hit, how the fuck could he have been hit. Where to go, no hospital, Harry, the only way, Harry, someone who would help, Harry. Harry. His safe space, Harry. Harry. 

****

“Come in.” Harry said before he could stop himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt guilty for it. He had no right to feel this kind of panic, no right to worry about the wellbeing of this man, who now stumbled into Harry’s hallway, pressing his eyes shut and gritting hit teeth in pain. Gary was a murderer. He was a blackmailer. And him dying would get Harry out of this fucked-up situation he was in. 

And for some reason, Harry couldn’t let that happen. 

He quickly shut the door behind Gary, thankful that none of his neighbours was roaming the hallway. He grabbed Gary’s left hand – who was pressing his other hand against the wound again – with his own left hand and pulled it over his shoulder, so Gary’s arm was lying across Harry’s shoulders. Then he put his right hand under Gary’s right armpit, drawing a stifled sob from him, and walked him to the bathroom. Gary let himself be dragged along willingly, though he probably wouldn’t have the strength to protest if he wanted. Harry carefully lowered Gary onto the edge of the bathtub. Gary’s eyes were still closed and his face was terrifyingly pale. “Gary?” 

“Mmh?” he didn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t able to speak, whether it was from pain or shock or blood loss. 

Harry opened the buttons of Gary’s chauffeur jacket and the sight of the blood on Gary’s otherwise white shirt made him worried sick. It was a lot. He gently took Gary’s hand and moved it away from the wound. It was a bullet wound, some ten centimetres from the heart, stopped by the ribs. The bullet was still there, lodged into Gary’s ribs. Harry wondered if Gary had driven or walked here. Anyway, it could already be too late. “Gary? Look at me.” 

Very slowly, Gary opened his eyes. His eyes rolled back, weren’t able to focus. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and Harry thought it looked both beautiful and heart-breaking, like a piece of art one can’t stop looking at. He carefully pushed Gary’s jacket off his shoulders, then grabbed his first aid kit and took out the pair of bandage scissors. Gary looked at him suspiciously at first, but nodded with something like relief or understanding when Harry started to cut the white shirt from the neck down, so he could tear it off without Gary having to lift his arms over his head. “What’s your bloodtype?” Harry asked, while taking disinfectant, cotton balls and sterile bandages from the kit. Gary shook his head barely noticeably. He didn’t know. Fuck. “What the hell happened?” Harry asked. Gary’s didn’t answer.

****

There was no pain in his body, it was like his body was in pain, encapsulated by it, the way oxygen is everywhere, all had been replaced by pain. He heard Harry speak but couldn’t hear the words, sounds had been replaced by pain, he thought he heard a heartbeat but he didn’t hear it, he felt it, and it felt weak. His arm was lifted, pain, so much pain, his feet moved like he was being dragged somewhere, he didn’t care, it was Harry and Harry would help him, he heard words again, tried to speak, but couldn’t, tried to open his eyes, briefly saw Harry’s worried expression, Harry was helping him, Harry, Harry, Harry. His jacket was removed, he saw something sharp, but it was Harry, Harry wouldn’t hurt him, he nodded and heard words again, but shook his head, he couldn’t make them out.  
Pain, worse than before, he shouted something and heard someone laugh, was it Harry or a voice in his head, a voice that laughed because he deserved this? A metallic sound, a burning feeling in the wound, less than before, something soft was pressed into it, Harry’s fingers moved around his chest, again and again and again. A bandage, Gary realised, he wanted to say thank you but no words came out, he was flying – was he dead? – but he landed again and and and….

****

Harry took a set of pliers, looked for a moment at the unresponsive person in front of him, and while he moved the pliers in, said “This is going to hurt like a-“ 

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Gary groaned, clenching his fists. 

“Exactly,” Harry said, chuckling, and dropped the bullet into the sink. He disinfected the wound, put gauze over it, pressed some cotton onto it and started wrapping it up with a bandage, around Gary’s chest. He had to make it tight to stop the bleeding, but he also knew Gary’s ribs were broken. He was surprised the boy hadn’t passed out from the pain yet. He secured the bandage and carefully lifted Gary, with one arm in the bend of his legs, and one holding his back, like a groom carries his bride. He carried Gary over the threshold of his bedroom, trying not to get lost in the irony of it all, and put him in the bed. 

Then he went to the bathroom again, to retrieve his gun from Gary’s jacket. 

****

He woke up gasping for air. It was like his lungs were being crushed by something heavy, and all he could feel was pain, tried to see where he was, but there was nothing but darkness around him. He clenched his eyes closed, trying to will away the pain, trying to just keep breathing, just keep breathing. Suddenly there was light. “Gary,” someone said, he could hear the voice but it was so surreal, like in a dream. A hand gently touched his shoulder. “It’s okay, Gary. Just calm down. Calm down.” The voice was soothing, and he recognised it. Harry. Oh God, Harry was here. Everything would be okay. “Take some pain killers,” Harry said, and Gary heard a plastic container being opened and then Harry’s fingers pried apart Gary’s clenched fists and poured some pills into it. “I’m going to get you some water, alright?” Gary didn’t answer. He could feel Harry getting up, the matrass decompressed slightly when he got off it, and he realised Harry must have been asleep next to him. He touched his chest, feeling the bandages, and remembered bits and pieces of last night. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn’t even try to convince himself it was from the pain, since he knew it was because it meant the world to him; Harry letting him in. Letting him sleep in his bed. Taking care of him in a way that no one had ever done before. But he couldn’t let that get to him. 

He had a mission. 

Harry returned with a glass of water, helped Gary sit up – which made the pain worse, but he knew it’d be temporary – and Gary swallowed the pills. Normally he would never take meds from someone else. He had been drugged before, and had sworn to himself it would happen never again. And yet he took them without hesitation, without even looking at them. 

Don’t let him get to you, he reminded himself. It won’t last. 

You don’t want it to last.

****

The pills must have worked, because when Gary woke up the next time it was starting to get light outside. 

Harry was standing at the foot of the bed, buckling his belt. His hair was damp. “Good morning,” he said. “Feeling better?” 

Gary groaned. “No. Maybe if I had woken up a minute earlier,” he winked at Harry, who rolled his eyes and grabbed a clean shirt from his closet. 

Gary tried to get up, only to discover his feet were bound to the foot of the bed. He pulled the covers off of himself and stared at the… things… keeping him there. “Silk ties, Harry?” He looked up at Harry in disbelief. 

Harry smirked. “I could have handcuffed you, but it seemed awfully cruel to tie your arms over your head under these circumstances, and at least silk wouldn’t damage your skin if you moved in your sleep.” 

“Wow. How considerate of you. Thanks.” Gary said sarcastically and leaned forward to free himself.

Harry chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

Gary ignored the comment and tried to open the knots. He couldn’t even tell where the beginning of the ties were. A navy blue one was wrapped around his left ankle, tied to the metal slats of the bedframe. The second tie, a grey spotted one, was not only around his right ankle, but also interwoven with the left one and tied around the slats as well. He fiddled with the ties, but still couldn’t find the beginnings of either one. He shot Harry an angry look. “Were you in the boy scouts or something?” 

“I’m a Kingsman,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Do they teach a class on kinkiness?” Gary asked, and decided to just lay back and let Harry enjoy the view. He was still wearing his pants, and there was a bandage around his chest, but still, there was enough to admire, even if he said so himself.

“Didn’t Charlie tell you?” Harry asked. “Seduction is a big part of it all.” 

Gary looked at Harry’s naked chest for a moment, and mumbled “I bet you were a straight A student.” 

Harry just smirked at him and buttoned up his shirt deliberately slowly. What a fucking tease.  
“So, when are you telling me the locations?” he asked.

Gary raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject. “Once we’ve been on a date,” he said on a tone that suggested this was terribly obvious.

Harry sighed. “Okay, and when do we go on that date?” 

“I’ll let you know.” Gary said with a shrug – a mistake, as evidenced by the way his face turned into a pained grimace for a second. 

“That’s not fair,” Harry said. He felt annoyed at this, annoyed and helpless. If Gary could chose the date, it could be days or even weeks before they would find out.

“’That’s not fair’” Gary repeated mockingly. He winked and made air pistols at Harry. “Loopholes, my dear.” 

“You sure you want to talk about loopholes while tied up? I might never free you.” A part of him meant it.

Gary just grinned at the threat. “Maybe I don’t mind being tied up. And this talk about holes is kinda turning me on.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way he probably thought to be seductive.

“You are disgusting,” Harry sighed.

Gary almost shrugged again, but caught himself in time and pulled a face instead. “Says the elderly gentleman who has his young lover tied to his bed.” 

“You are not my lover.” 

“That makes it worse, doesn’t it?” Gary said unimpressed.

Harry laughed. “It does,” he admitted. “Breakfast?” 

Just like that, Gary’s stomach started rumbling. He hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, perhaps that was part of the reason he felt so godawful right now. Other than having been shot. And being tied to a bed. He looked down at his stomach pointedly. “Apparently so,” he said. 

Harry laughed and left. When he returned, he was carrying a tray with coffee, bread rolls and a plate with sliced cheese and cold cuts. He set the tray down on Gary’s lap and down next to him, with his feet on the mattress. He was wearing fluffy baby blue socks and no shoes. 

“So, we’re finally having breakfast together.” Gary said. “And it only took me getting shot for it to happen.” 

Harry swallowed a bite. “And how exactly DID you get shot?” 

Gary’s mood changed from playful to moody immediately. “Perhaps we should just eat in silence,” he said. 

“If you want,” Harry said, and grabbed the remote from his nightstand. He turned on the television and zapped to the news. He noticed from the corner of his eyes that Gary seemed to shrink into himself, but thought it was just from the pain, so he paid no attention to it. Not until he saw the headlines running through the bottom of the screen. 

\- Carlton Wealer stabbed to death in own home - 

He turned his head to Gary very, very slowly. 

Gary didn’t look at him. He stared at the screen stubbornly and pretended not to see. 

“You killed him.” Harry said flatly. “After I made a deal for him. You bloody ignored our agreement.” 

Gary shook his head, still not looking at him. “The agreement was that you didn’t have to kill him. I never said I wouldn’t. Loopholes.” 

Harry was furious, and he didn’t quite know why. Because Gary had broken the agreement, sure, but that wasn’t all of it. He was also angry that Gary somehow jeopardised himself, and that the news had gotten out already and that even more people would be investigating Gary right now and that he could have led them right to Harry’s doorstep. He was angry at himself for harbouring a fugitive, he was angry that he only found out about this now, and he was angry that Gary had thought he could get away with not telling. But most of all he was angry because he had been worried sick about Gary, and now he found out that he had done something unforgiveable. He had broken the rules of the game, and Harry cursed himself for it, because there was nothing he could do. The rules didn’t apply to Gary, did they, none but the ‘tell no one’ part of it all. He should have negotiated rules for Gary, and he hadn’t even tried. He had set the circumstances for this to happen. He had left Gary alone in Wealer’s house and hadn’t even questioned Gary’s motives for staying. 

This was on Harry just as much as it was on Gary. “But why? Why did you do it?” 

Gary pressed his lips into a hard line. His eyes were cold again. “I had to kill him! He had seen my face,” he said, looking at Harry defiantly. 

“SO WHAT? He has seen my face as well! And I sure as hell didn’t kill him!” 

“He saw my face,” Gary repeated stubbornly. 

Harry knew he wasn’t telling the truth. This was not the reason he had killed Wealer, but for some reason he didn’t want to tell the truth. He was embarrassed of it. And Harry thought he knew why. “Care to explain how a tied up, unarmed man managed to shoot you?” 

Gary set his jaw in a way that was familiar, though Harry wasn’t sure who it reminded him of. “He pushed the panic button,” he said, and it almost sounded like a question. “I had freed him, and suddenly he jumped and apparently pushed some button I hadn’t even seen and I stabbed him, and police arrived minutes later and I….” 

“And you what?” Harry was afraid of the answer.

“And I killed them all.” 

****

Merlin stared at the screen in despair. Someone put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to see Percival looking at the screen as well, with a grim expression on his face. “Not long now before the news starts using the words ‘domestic terrorism,’ Merlin said softly. 

Percival nodded. “Do you think this is retaliation for us having talked to Charlie’s family?” 

Merlin’s heart seemed to crumble in his chest. “I hadn’t even thought about that,” he admitted. What if it was? What would that mean for their investigation?

“Well, for me it is all I could think about since I heard,” Percival said. “What are we going to do now?” 

Merlin shook his head lightly. He didn’t like to admit this, but he had to “I don’t know if there is anything we CAN do. Not without making it worse, whatever it is.” 

Percival nodded slowly. “Not in the field perhaps… if the person responsible is watching us, and if this was indeed payback for getting closer to the solution, we can’t go knocking on doors and stuff like that. But from in here….?” 

“I have reset everything,” Merlin said, answering the unspoken question. “Even if someone else had access to our servers, he won’t have it now.” 

“So you can break in to the police’s database and see what they have found thus far?”

“Yes. But Percival, this person is smart. I really don’t think they would have used a weapon that is present in any database. That would be a rookie mistake. We are not even sure it was the same person who blew up the Tate Modern.” 

Percival hummed in agreement. “Still. What else can we do?” 

He was right. Even if the odds were small, it was worth a shot. 

****

Harry’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know how to respond to this. The news finally ended and looped, starting at the beginning. He felt numb, listening to the anchor say that police had been alerted to a ‘situation’ at Carlton Wealer’s house, never to return. A second team had discovered Wealer, stabbed to death, and the three policemen who had responded to the call, also dead. They had been shot, all three of them.

“Why did you free him?” He finally looked at Gary, who looked angry and chewed on a piece of bread absentmindedly. 

Gary shrugged. “Perhaps I didn’t want to kill someone who was tied up.” He looked pointedly at his ties, then looked at Harry. “I guess I’m not as strong as you are.” 

The comment hurt, even though Harry knew Gary said it to get a rise out of him. Yes, Harry had killed Harris while tied up, but Harris deserved it. Wealer didn’t. 

Oh shit.

Harris.

He suddenly realised he hadn’t been wearing gloves when he snapped Harris’ neck. How could he have been so stupid? He was used to Kingsman taking care of things like this. He never left a trail of bodies behind. But now… now there was a body with his fingerprints on him, in the house where a prominent politician had been killed as well.

His mouth was dry. “What about Harris?” 

Gary laughed loudly. “He won’t be found. Unless I want him to.” 

****

Gary had disposed of Clyde Harris’ body with the efficiency of someone who had done it countless times before, and with the carelessness of someone who knows he won’t go down for murder anyway, even if the body were to be found. He hadn’t killed Clyde Harris, after all. Harry had. Gary had no reason to fear anything. 

Then he had returned to the house, to Wealer who was still sitting in his chair, tied up and gagged. Gary knew that Wealer had heard the sounds of a body being dragged away. Wealer knew what had happened. And he knew he would be next. 

Gary shared Harry’s sentiment, in a way. It was difficult to kill someone who was tied up. So he went to the kitchen and returned with a knife. Then he cut Wealer’s ties. That turned out to be a mistake. 

As soon as the ropes fell to the ground, Wealer jumped towards his nightstand, probably to grab a weapon he had hidden there. Gary jumped after him, dragged him away before he could open the nightstand, and stabbed him in the abdomen. 

Wealer screamed and curled up into a ball, trying to protect himself. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?! You are not getting out of here alive, you hear me!” Gary screamed. He was furious. “Do you know why I’m here?” 

Wealer sobbed and didn’t answer, he pressed his hands to his wound, breathing way too fast. 

“Do you know why I’m here?” Gary repeated, and this time Wealer responded. “No, no please. I have a family, please.” 

“You know who also has a family? Every damn soldier you want to send to the middle east! Every black kid you vilify! Every woman you look down on!” He had said more, ineloquent rants about sacrifice and the elite, and silver spoons and opportunity. He had only stopped when he heard a car pull up on the driveway, and by that time it had been too late. He couldn’t escape anymore. It was then that he realised what a big mistake he had made before. Wealer hadn’t tried to grab a weapon at all. Without Gary seeing it, he had pushed a button Gary hadn’t paid attention to earlier, something he had assumed was a light switch. It was a panic button. 

The front door was kicked in, and Gary stabbed Wealer’s in the heart in one swift movement, before he could make a sound. He took Harry’s gun and closed his eyes, trying to count how many sets of footsteps he heard sneaking up the stairs. 

Two. 

Or three. 

Damnit, two or three? He heard them open the door across the hall, the room where Harris had been. 

This door would be next. He aimed his gun at the door. 

He knew he was a good shot. He just had to be better than two or three trained agents. 

He grinned. 

Easy. 

****

Gary smiled innocently. “The only prints on the gun used to kill the policemen are yours,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “Gloves, Harry.” 

“You kill a person with my gun, and then you come to me to save your life. That’s cold.” 

“Is it colder than killing a guy who’s tied to a chair?” Gary asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” 

It was stupid of him to only now understand why Gary had worn gloves all this time. So now Gary had the upper hand, even more so than before. Harry didn’t only need to worry about accidentally breaking the rules and getting killed for it, but also about going to prison for the murders Gary had committed with Harry’s weapon. His prints were not in the database of the police, but if Gary called in an anonymous tip, they would simply take Harry to the station and get his prints. And then he would be fucked. 

“I need to go to work,” he said. He felt numb. There had to be a way he could fix this. But if there was one, Harry did not see it. Yet. 

****

He left Gary behind, still tied to the bed, with some food on the nightstand. Gary had been angry about it, but there was nothing he could do from his position. 

He arrived at Kingsman and went straight to Merlin’s office. “Did Percival and Tristan have any luck with Charlie’s family?” he asked.

Merlin stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. “Have you heard about Wealer?” 

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “It’s why I’m asking.” 

“Percival thought they were connected as well. Payback for getting closer. If that’s true, it is good news… in a way.” 

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “So? Any luck?” 

“Percival is next door,” Merlin said. He got up. 

Together, they went to the next room, where Tristan and Percival both were. Harry and Merlin stood next to the door while Tristan and Percival took turns telling what had happened. Even though Merlin had heard it the day before, he listened intently. 

“Mrs Hesketh really, really didn’t want to talk to us.” Percival said. 

“She seemed scared.” Tristan added. “And the whole family has not been in contact with Charlie for two years.”

While it didn’t surprise Harry, it was still heart-breaking. 

“So it seems unlikely that they were involved by free will. Which made Tristan and me believe that Charlie might have been kidnapped.” 

Yes! They were on the right track!

“Eventually we downright asked them if they have reason to expect that Charlie’s absence was by his own free will, and Mrs Hesketh started crying.” Tristan seemed uncomfortable. Crying women were not his strong suit. “And then Mr Arling-Smith politely asked us to leave.” He looked defeated.

“However,” Percival said, with an aside glance at Tristan, “when he walked us to the door, he said they had never received a ransom note.” 

Tristan nodded. “It was like he was afraid to really SAY anything, you know? Like he was willing to give hints, but not TELL us. He said that they would do anything for their sons safe return. Anything. Like, he almost winked when he said ‘anything’. Obviously he doesn’t want to incriminate his own firm, but they totally did it. Not that we can prove it or anything.” He was as frustrated as Harry.

“So Charlie was kidnapped, and they were forced to blow up the Tate Modern, or Charlie would die?” Harry asked. 

Merlin looked up. “No.” he said angrily. “That would mean there is another leak at Kingsman. How else would all our wanted criminals turn up there? I think Charlie misused his position as a recruit to get into my servers,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and later decided he would show us what a grave mistake we’ve made by kicking him out, by killing those criminals even WE couldn’t find.”

“But then HOW did HE find them?” Tristan asked, and his tone made it clear they had this same discussion the day before. 

“I don’t know.” Merlin said on the same tone. 

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” Percival said. “Everything boils down to this: we find Charlie, we find answers. Right?” 

Everyone else nodded.

“Right. So why don’t we focus this… anger,” he looked at Merlin and Tristan, who both ignored it, “on finding our only fucking lead?” 

Harry swallowed hard. If only he knew where Charlie was. It would be so perfect. Gary was in his apartment, which meant he couldn’t stop them, and he couldn’t kill the Kingsmen that would go in to retrieve Charlie. Harry sort of knew the environment of the house Charlie was being kept, and he knew within which radius the house could be, because he knew how long they had driven. Suddenly he had a brilliant idea. “Do we have a list of all the properties of the Arling-Smith family? And the Hesketh-side of the family?” 

All three agents looked at him in bewilderment. 

“Hold on,” Tristan said. “Charlie is not being held in a house that belongs to his own bloody family! And if he is acting on his own will, he isn’t stupid enough to do that! The family would find out in a heartbeat!” 

Harry shrugged. “Perhaps. And perhaps Charlie knows of a disused house that would be perfect for him. Merlin, could you give me a list of the properties? I’ll study it myself. I won’t waste your time with my ideas.” 

Merlin nodded. “Sure I…” he sounded distracted, and left the room without saying anything else. 

Harry followed him, and ten minutes later he was checking every building against a map, circling those that were in the woods. Finally, things were going right. 

Perhaps he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy it so far :)


	6. You are my safe space (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival tells horrible jokes, Harry loses his temper, our favorite psycho takes his babe on a date.

Harry took Percival with him to search the four houses he had circled. On the way, he briefed Percival in the most non-descript way possible, simply saying he had chosen the houses because they were all in remote areas, spread out through England. They couldn’t call the Arling-Smiths and ask which houses were in disuse: if they were lying about their involvement they could tip off Charlie, and even if they would cooperate, Harry could not rule out the possibility that ‘the terrorist’ was tapping their phones. 

Harry couldn’t know that at that very moment, Merlin was doing some research of his own.

****

Hacking the police database was about as hard as breaking open a door that has repeatedly been kicked in before and never repaired. Merlin usually didn’t even bother leaving the database, preferring to just keep a tab open so he could easily look up whatever he needed to know. He didn’t expect to find anything of value this time, like he had told Percival before, but he had to give it a try. The first time he entered the file about the Wealer-stabbing, the ballistics of the shooting hadn’t been processed yet. The second time, shortly after he had finally eaten lunch, they were there. There wasn’t a match between the gun used to kill the policemen and any weapons in the database, like he had expected. But that was the police, and this was Kingsman, and running them through their own database as well couldn’t hurt. He exported the data, and waited patiently.  
A few seconds later, he wished he had never done so.

****

The reason Harry had asked Percival to come with him, was because Percival was up for nearly anything. In fact, Harry couldn’t remember ever hearing him say “We can’t do that”, or “Arthur wouldn’t approve” or most importantly “That’s too dangerous”. 

On top of that, he simply liked Percival’s humour, and his seemingly endless supply of bad jokes, which he told with childlike glee. 

“Which animal says ‘OOOOH’?” Percival asked, with that typical grin that meant the answer would make nearly anyone roll their eyes and make Tristan bang his head against any hard surface available. 

Harry thought for a bit, already not able to contain a grin, anticipating something really dumb. “Just tell me,” he said. 

Percival squealed happily “A cow without lips.” 

Harry groaned, but laughed. There was just something about the sheer excitement with which Percival delivered the punchlines that made even jokes like this funny. 

“Wait, wait, I know another one.” Percival bit his lips to keep from laughing. “Okay. What is the difference between a truck full of bowling balls and a truck full of dead babies?” 

“Oh God,” Harry said. “I don’t even want to know.” 

“You cannot unload the bowling balls with a pitchfork.”

Harry laughed, and felt slightly guilty. 

Percival didn’t, he laughed out loud, as if it was the funniest thing ever. “I told this one to Roxy, and she hasn’t talked to me since.”

“When was that?” 

“A few months ago, I think,” Percival grinned. “You know a joke is good when it destroys a healthy working relationship.” 

Harry smiled at him in the rear view mirror. What Percival didn’t say, but Harry could tell he thought, by the way his smile faded and there came a dreamlike expression on his face, was that the old Lancelot would have laughed. Despite his stiffy exterior, and how serious he usually was in the workplace, he was the person who enjoyed Percival’s crude humour the most. That was just one of the many reasons they had been such an amazing couple. It had been two years now, but Harry still missed James all the time. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for Percival, who had loved him, lived with him, meant the world to him, for fifteen years. Percival had never referred to Roxy as Lancelot, and Harry didn’t think he ever would.

Harry looked at the road again. His seatbelt pressed into his shoulder, a constant reminder he didn’t have his holster on. That was the final reason why he had chosen Percival: he was a good shot. And Harry hadn’t found his weapons in Gary’s coat, nor anywhere else on him. He was going in unarmed. 

Once he got home, he needed to find out where Gary had hidden the guns, the gloves, and preferably also Clyde Harris, but it seemed unlikely he would get that information out of him. He would try anyway. 

****

They had taken one of Kingsman’s alarm-disablers with them, which was emitting a frequency that messed with any common alarm system. They could walk in anywhere without worrying about setting off an alarm, without needing to punch in a code or being afraid their movement alerted the police. Merlin was brilliant like that. 

The first house they arrived at wasn’t the one he was looking for, he knew it even before he picked the lock and went inside. There was no garage attached to the house. Still, he and Percival walked systematically through the entire house, finding nothing of note. The house was as impersonal as the one Charlie lived in, though less modern. 

“Why do people even own this many houses if they don’t use them?” Percival asked, shaking his head at so much luxury. Percival was from old money, like all Kingsmen, but didn’t live like it. He disagreed with his family on nearly everything, and Harry knew he hadn’t been in contact with them since he moved in with James and his mother told him to never come back, something Percival complied with without a care. 

“Because people are stupid,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t understand it either. Why would one want to live in a house with five bathrooms on their own? Why would one want to own sixteen cars? He was perfectly happy with his small flat. He wasn’t home that much anyway. 

The next house they arrived at couldn’t be it, since it was occupied. Two cars were parked outside, and there were people having a loud laughter-filled conversation outside. Still, Harry sneaked up to the windows and peeked inside, just to be sure. The walls of the kitchen had red tiles and there were flowers everywhere; it wasn’t the right house either. The almost two hour drive had been for nothing. 

There were only two more houses to go, the only ones left that were in the woods. He was starting to believe that maybe he had been wrong, but then they pulled up the driveway to the third house, and the garage immediately caught his eye. It had big white roll doors, like the door he had only seen from the inside. A rush of excitement came over him. They were going to find Charlie. 

“My turn,” Percival grinned, and took Harry’s lockpick set from him. He crouched down in front of the door, while Harry looked on anxiously. He knew it was the right house, he was absolutely sure of it. Percival opened the door slowly while taking out his gun, looked over his shoulder and nodded at Harry, who followed him inside. The second door on his left had a big wooden C on it. His heart started racing. 

Percival opened the first door first, shook his head, and moved on to the next one. Harry glanced into the room in passing, finding it to be completely empty. Percival put his hand on the door handle of the door with the C and nodded at Harry, who nodded back. He pushed the door open, and Harry could see his facial expression turn to bewilderment. Percival looked back at Harry. “There’s no one,” he whispered. “But you should see this.” 

Harry knew what he was about to see, but he braced himself anyway and looked inside. The room was exactly the way it had been the last time, the only difference was that Charlie wasn’t there. Harry walked in and opened the closet, the only thing big enough that it could possibly hide a person of Charlie’s size, but there was nothing in it but clothes. Child-sized clothes.

He had to be here. He had been here yesterday, and Gary had left with Harry, gone to Wealer’s house, and shown up at Harry’s place that evening, wounded. He couldn’t have gone back to this house to take Charlie somewhere else. That meant that either someone else was involved and had relocated Charlie, or Charlie had somehow managed to escape. Harry didn’t believe in coincidence. There was no way that after two years of imprisonment, Charlie would find a way out mere hours after meeting Harry. So either he had been taken somewhere else, or he was still in the house. Harry hoped the latter. They might never find him otherwise. Something like guilt came over Harry, guilt that had nothing to do with Charlie, but with himself. He felt like a hypocrite. Wasn’t he – at this very moment – keeping a prisoner in his own home? 

They searched the rest of the house, all of which was pretty much empty, except for Charlie’s room and another bedroom, probably the parent’s room. The cupboards in the kitchen were full of non-perishable foods though, and there were half-empty cleaning supplies in the bathroom cabinet. Percival opened a trashcan in the kitchen, and it was halfway full of empty cans and plastic packaging. Percival put some of them into a plastic evidence bag, to check for prints. Eventually they went into the courtyard, and the blanket and basket Gary had left behind were gone. There was no one in the house, but Percival agreed it was clear that someone had lived here. 

Harry had given up hope, but couldn’t tell Percival that without admitting that he knew this had been their best shot. Their only shot. There was no one in the last house either, but it was more furnished than the previous one, like a vacation home that only got used every once in a while. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time,” Harry said to Percival as they were driving back. 

“Don’t be. We know someone has been in house number three, we only need to find out who it was.” 

Yeah. But Harry already knew who it was. He only wanted to know where he was now.

****

He was in a bad mood when he returned home, but was determined not to let it show. He didn’t want Gary to know he had looked for Charlie, and he sure as hell didn’t want him to know they didn’t find him. 

Gary was lying in bed, with the blankets wrapped around himself tightly. 

That tiny bit of guilt crept up on Harry again. He had left Gary behind, hours after he had suffered a bullet wound, without even checking on his wound again. Gary could have blood poisoning for all Harry knew, or the wound could be infected. Moreover, he had tied him to his bed while Gary wasn’t wearing a shirt, was out of reach of more clothes, and was probably incredibly cold from the blood loss. These were all things that Harry really should have thought about when he left him. 

For a moment, Harry just stood in the doorway, watching Gary sleep. He looked adorable like that, with only his face sticking out from the blanket-burrito he had wrapped himself in. Harry went into the kitchen and made tea, put the teapot, tea cups and some biscuits on a tray, and returned to the bedroom. He set the tray down on the nightstand and turned to Gary, intending to wake him up, only to see that Gary was staring at him. 

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming back.” Gary said. 

Was that a threat? 

Gary seemed to know what he was thinking, because he rolled his eyes and pulled a face, before rolling over and looking up at the ceiling, “It’s a dangerous profession, after all.” 

“Well, I’m still alive,” Harry said. 

Gary smirked a little but didn’t say anything. Then he turned his head to Harry again. “I found your lesbian porn.”

Harry didn’t respond to that.

“Oh come on, not even a smile? I’ve been thinking for the last eight hours what I should say when you returned, and you can’t even pretend it’s funny?” 

“If that’s your best material, I do hope you’ll never become a stand-up comedian.”

“I can’t really stand up right now, can I?” Gary grumbled.

Harry smiled. “See, that one is much funnier. There is hope for you yet.”

Gary wasn’t amused. “Oh, In case you’re wondering why there is a bottle of apple juice under the bed, while you didn’t GIVE me a bottle of apple juice, the answer to that mystery is, I had to use the toilet.” He gave Harry an angry look. “And by ‘bottle’ I of course mean your bottle of lotion, which you undoubtedly use for less than noble activities, but which is empty now. Because I needed to piss in it. So now my legs are very silky. Want to feel?” He freed himself from the blankets and extended his (indeed very smooth-looking) leg to Harry, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry laughed, and it would have lightened the mood, it might even have kept his thoughts away from everything that had happened that day… but then Gary casually asked “Anyway, how was work today?” and something inside Harry snapped.

Before he could stop himself, he had jumped on top of Gary, pinned his hands down above his head and shouted “Where is Charlie?”.  
Gary looked shocked, and Harry was briefly reminded of his own sense of bewilderment a few days ago when Gary was explaining the last rule to him and suddenly started strangling him. Perhaps that memory should make him realise this was wrong, but it didn’t. Quite the contrary, the memory made him even angrier: how dared this man, this BOY threaten Harry, involve him in this fucking GAME of his, come to him for help when he was dying, casually remind him of the fact Gary had a gun with Harry’s prints on it in his possession, and then make a mockery of him? Gary knew they wouldn’t have found anything, he knew because he was responsible for it. So Harry shouted it again, louder this time, “WHERE IS CHARLIE?” and he didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t like the answer, he only knew it would be easy, so terrible easy, to just move his hands to Gary’s throat, keep tightening his grip until he COULDN’T answer anymore, until no lie would ever escape from his mouth again. 

But then he looked at Gary, and his rage turned to guilt again. 

Cracks began to show in Gary’s exterior. His jaw started shaking the tiniest bit, and he took a deep breath, looking away.

Harry looked at his face, and the only thing he saw was fear and pain. He let go. 

Jesus, what was wrong with him? Gary was just a kid. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly. 

Gary was sniffling softly, trying to hide his tears. It didn’t work, and he sobbed openly, clutching his chest. 

Harry felt bad for hurting him, but he needed to know. He gently took Gary’s hand, who flinched and pulled his hand back as if he was afraid Harry would hurt him again, he stared up at Harry with pure fear in his eyes. “Where is Charlie?” Harry whispered. 

Gary’s face crumpled up and he sobbed loudly, shaking his head. “Safe,” he sobbed. “He’s safe, please…” 

Please don’t hurt me. It was unspoken, but it was there.

“How…” He should apologise again. He should assure Gary he wouldn’t hurt him. 

NO! He should not! Gary was a murderer! He could not allow himself to forget that. 

But Gary had killed criminals. And hadn’t Harry done the same thing countless times? Had he not done that yesterday? With Clyde Harris? How could he judge Gary for that?

However, Gary had also killed Wealer.

Because he saw his face.

No, because he wanted to.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” he asked, sounding exasperated. “After you killed Wealer against our agreement?” 

Gary was trying to stifle his sobs. He lifted one hand to indicate it could take a moment. He was crying into Harry’s pillow, and Harry realised he didn’t believe this could be faked. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. 

Gary made a raspy sound, coughed, and breathed in a couple of times, exhaling shakily. Eventually he calmed down enough to talk. He laid on his side, hugging the pillow to his chest – for comfort, Harry thought, of perhaps for protection – and looked up at Harry. His jaw was trembling and his eyes were red, and brimming with tears. He looked incredibly sad and small right now, fragile in a way he had never looked before. When he started talking, his voice was shaking. “Charlie… Charlie loves me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks and he coughed again, clenched his teeth from the pain it caused his ribs, and took a moment to catch his breath. “Charlie is safe. I would never hurt him.” He looked at Harry earnestly, tearfully. “He’s like a son to me.” He grinned, but it was a bad attempt of coming across as his manic self. 

Against his intuition Harry believed it when he said he wouldn’t hurt Charlie, and he believed that Gary meant a lot to Charlie, even if their relationship was totally fucked-up. Somehow, in his own twisted way, Gary cared about Charlie. Gary’s fake grin disappeared quickly and he just looked tired and sad again. He shook his head softly. “There is something seriously wrong with me.” He pressed his eyes shut and sobbed again. 

Harry sat down next to him on the bed and gently touched Gary’s shoulder with his hand. “What makes you say that?” he asked softly. 

“It’s true innit?” he sounded heartbroken. “Everyone says it.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Who’s everyone?” Harry asked. 

“Everyone I care for.” He opened his eyes for a moment, looking at Harry. “You would’ve killed me after the Tate Modern if you didn’t think it’d make you responsible for the things that will happen.” 

Harry wanted to argue with that, but he couldn’t. Perhaps he would have. Though a part of him thought that even if he was certain that all of this would end if Gary were dead, he still wouldn’t do it. There were too many unanswered questions that only Gary could answer. And there was another reason, something he didn’t like to admit to himself. He felt a connection. He had felt it that time when they were sitting on the roof, looking at the city lights, he had felt it when they talked about nothing in particular on their way to the club, he had even felt it when Gary explained the rules to him. He was curious to know what would happen, but he was equally curious about Gary as a person. And Gary had seen him commit murder and hadn’t judged him for it. Was that what love is? Not having to hide your darkness from each other? Embracing it? Cherishing it? Sharing your thoughts, however horrible they may be, and not be judged? 

How did he dare to use the L-word, even in thought?

“I didn’t know you back then,” he said softly. He wanted to comfort Gary, and perhaps be comforted in return. He pulled up the blankets a bit to reveal Gary’s ankles and easily untied him. Then he toed off his shoes and laid down next to Gary, facing him, the tea forgotten and cold. He gently wrapped his arms around Gary and pulled him close, and Gary let him. “Can I ask you something?” Harry whispered. He softly stroked Gary’s hair with one hand, while holding him tightly with his other arm. 

Gary nodded with his face pressed against Harry’s chest. 

“If I had not gone to that building that night… would all of this have happened anyway?” it had been bugging him for a long time now, the question weighing more and more heavy on his mind. 

Gary moved in his arms, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt his ribs so much. Then he put his arms around Harry as well. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said softly. “There was not only a plan B, but a plan A through Z. No matter how, no matter when, we would have met. And this would be happening.” 

“Why me?” he knew Gary wouldn’t answer it, and was right. 

Gary just shook his head. 

“Why did you sleep with me?” Harry asked. Was that necessary for the plan? Did Gary just need a reason to get into Harry’s apartment? But he could enter whenever he wanted, he had proven that when he showed up in Harry’s bed after blowing up the Tate Modern. 

“Because I wanted to,” Gary said. He sounded sad. 

“Do you regret it?” Harry asked, still stroking Gary’s hair. 

Gary thought that over for a moment. “No,” he said eventually. “Do you?”

“No,” Harry said, and he meant it, for reasons he wasn’t sure of. “Those people who say that… that there’s something wrong with you…” Gary tensed up in his arms but didn’t pull back, “perhaps they just don’t understand.” 

Gary didn’t move for a moment, then he looked at Harry questioningly. 

“I mean that… uhm. Like with the Tate. At first glance, it’s like a terrorist attack, a random action that killed innocent people. But as we know now, most of them were criminals, known to Kingsman.” 

Gary nodded, in a go-on kind of way. 

“So your motives were actually pure.” He tried to convince himself he was working the mutual respect angle, like when he said he wasn’t ready to kill just yet. He tried to tell himself that he had to let Gary think he respected him, to get him to open up more. But he really meant it.  
And just like that, he started to understand. He might still not agree with the methods, but in a way the results were the same. Gary had gotten more criminals off the street than Harry in all of his career. They had the same goal. “What I’m trying to say is… you did good. You are… you are worth loving.” 

The stammering, shy guy from their first meeting was back. Gary looked at him with bewilderment and doubt, and hope. “You don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it.” His voice was frail and shaky.

“I do mean it.” 

“Really?” he got teary-eyed and sobbed softly. 

“Really.” He wasn’t sure anymore. He coughed awkwardly and got up, returning with some painkillers. He handed them to Gary, who took them with his cold tea. Then Harry laid down next to him again, pulled him closer and gently pressed a kiss to his forehead. They laid there in silence until Gary fell asleep. 

****

When Gary woke up, he was alone again. He curled up in a ball, regretting it immediately when a sharp pain spread from his ribs, and stretched his back again. Suddenly he realised his feet were not bound. He kicked away the blanket carefully, and smiled to himself. He was free. He got up and walked into the living room. 

Harry was sitting on his couch, watching the news. He turned when he heard Gary enter, and smiled. “Did you sleep well?” 

Gary nodded and lingered in the doorway awkwardly. He had spilled his guts to this man, and he really shouldn’t have. Still, the things Harry had said were comforting, and Gary was grateful for them, even if he wasn’t sure Harry had meant them. He always found it hard to believe when someone said something nice. It didn’t happen often, and when it did, there was always this suspicion in him that the other person had ulterior motives to say them. 

Harry patted the space next to him, and Gary finally walked in, sitting down on the couch next to Harry. 

“Hungry?” Harry asked.

“Starving,” Gary replied. 

Harry mussed up Gary’s hair gently and went into the kitchen. He didn’t seem to think that Gary would run, whether that was because he was walking around barefoot, shirtless, and with a bullet hole in his chest, or for some other reason. “I hope you like pasta,” Harry said, returning with a plate which he set down on the coffee table. There was an half-empty plate already, which he picked up and continued eating. 

Gary couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t take you for the eating-on-the-couch kind of person,” he admitted. 

Harry looked mock-offended. “Because I wear suits? As you undoubtedly know, that’s just for work reasons.” 

“What do you wear when you’re not at work then?” Gary asked, thinking about Harry’s fluffy socks. 

Harry smirked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He shovelled another bite into his mouth. “By the way, your picture is all over the news.” 

Gary looked at him in disbelief. Harry had said it in such a calm way that he was convinced he was kidding. 

Harry shrugged. “Just wait until the end, they’ll tell the highlights again.” 

Gary ate nervously while sitting through a news report on some infrastructure-delay, waiting anxiously for the summary of the news to start. Finally, the report was over and the three most important news items of that day got mentioned quickly. “News in the Wealer-stabbing, as suspects photo is released,” the news anchor said coolly, and a black-and-white picture of Gary’s face was shown. Oh shit. 

“When a panic button is pushed, police are required to wear camera’s,” Harry explained. Gary rubbed his eyes. The picture was quite sharp, sadly. Definitely sharp enough for him to be recognisable. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. 

The doorbell rang. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to say “Fuck!”. He grabbed Gary’s plate, shoved it into his hands, and whispered “Bedroom! Close the door!” 

Gary’s heart was racing, and he did as he was told without argument. They couldn’t have found him, not that fast, not here! 

Except… if Harry had ratted him out. His eyes narrowed. If Harry had done that, his lifespan just got shorter. 

****

“Merlin,” Harry said, managing to keep both the surprise and relief out of his voice. 

“Harry,” Merlin said with a nod. He didn’t look happy at all. It wasn’t like him to come over uninvited. It worried Harry, but he couldn’t let that show, so he simply invited Merlin in and returned to the living room with him.

Merlin sat down on the exact spot where Gary had sat seconds before, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t notice the spot was warm. But Merlin’s mind seemed occupied with other things. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a sign he felt uncomfortable. Harry just sat there and waited, not sure what to say or what to expect. “Harry,” Merlin started, and his voice sounded unsure. “Before I ask you this, I want you to know I am here as your friend, not as a Kingsman. Okay?” 

He seemed to wait for confirmation, so Harry nodded, dreading what the question would be. 

“Have you… lost… a weapon?”

He knew.

Oh God, Merlin knew. Of course he did. 

Harry swallowed hard. “I’m sorry Merlin. I… I did.” It was the only thing he could say, wasn’t it? Pretend his weapon was stolen or lost, and the person who had it now had shot the policemen. “On my last mission, actually. I only noticed when I returned home, you know how hectic that last day was.” 

Merlin nodded solemnly. He seemed relieved. 

“And then you called me in, because all of that with the Tate was happening, and I simply forgot. Again, I’m so sorry.” 

Merlin raised his hand to stop him. “It’s alright Harry. If I were to throw a fit every time Percival lost a weapon…” he cleared his throat. “The reason I ask is that your weapon has shown up in relation to a crime.” He saw Harry go pale and made a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, I haven’t told Arthur, I wanted to hear from you first, uhm… so. Yeah. Do you have any idea who might have taken it? Or where you lost it?” 

Harry shook his head. “I have no idea, Merlin. Really. I’m so sorry, I should have remembered it the moment I got on the plane, I should have told you immediately before I had the chance to forget.” 

“It’s alright.” Merlin said again. “I’m just glad… that this is settled. Did you lose both, or one?” 

“One,” Harry said. He couldn’t admit he had gone all that time unarmed. Merlin WOULD throw a fit then. 

“I will replace it. A new one will be waiting for you tomorrow.” Merlin got up. He looked really uncomfortable. “Percival told me you didn’t find Charlie.” 

Harry noticed Merlin looked exhausted, even more so than normally. He nodded. 

“I’m working on the prints on the packaging you brought back, the results will be on your desk tomorrow, along with a new gun.” Merlin cleared his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yes.” Harry said. His mouth was dry. He walked with Merlin to the door. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Merlin nodded. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He closed the door behind Merlin. Seconds later, the door to his bedroom opened. “That went well.” Gary said. Harry couldn’t tell if the way he said it sounded relieved or angry. 

****

Gary was standing directly behind the door, listening to their conversation. Harry didn’t snitch on him. Moreover, he fixed the gun-situation. Looked like everything was going perfectly. 

He was annoyed at Merlin for crashing their moment, and as soon as he heard the door close, he went into the hallway. “That went well,” he said. 

Harry shrugged. “It could have been worse.” 

Gary knew – and Harry knew it as well – that this meant there was one less thing Gary could blackmail him with. 

Both went back to the living room, and Gary finished his meal without really tasting anything. He was worried about going back home, more worried than he liked to admit. His face was on the news, and while he knew that most Londoners didn’t really pay attention to the people they passed in the streets, he also knew it only took one person to recognise him. 

Well, he would just have to think of it as upping the stakes. 

Merlin hadn’t said anything about the picture on the news, perhaps he hadn’t even seen it yet, but tomorrow everyone at Kingsman would know he was the person who had shot the policemen and that he was the one who had blown up the Tate. Perhaps it had been stupid of him to show his face that time, but it was needed to convince Harry to play. 

Just stick to the plan, he convinced himself, and everything will work out fine. If he found a way to return home without getting recognised, everything would move on exactly the way he had planned.

“Gary,” Harry said, sounding amused, like he had said the name a couple of times before Gary finally noticed.

“Yes?” he said curtly.

“You are in a bad mood.” Harry said with a grin. 

Gary shot him an angry look. “I have to kill someone I used to care about,” he said simply. It was true, though Harry didn’t know who he was talking about. Yet.

“Oh,” Harry said. 

He wasn’t even worried. The poor idiot. Gary would laugh if he weren’t so damn tired. “Do you have a baseball cap?” he asked.

Harry laughed out loud, and looked unimpressed. “Do I look like I own a baseball cap?” 

Gary sighed. Shit.

“Why do you need one?” Harry asked.

He just wanted to hear him say it, Gary knew that, but he wasn’t going to make something up. “I’m kinda on the run from the police a little. Obviously” 

“How can you be on the run ‘a little’?” Harry asked. He was really enjoying himself too much.

Gary flipped Harry off, which made him laugh, and pointed at his bullet wound, “’Cause I won’t be running with this. So it’s more like jogging from the police. Or race-walking.” 

The mental image of Gary race-walking must be a funny one, because Harry looked like he was choking back laughter, until he gave up and just laughed right in his face. Oh, he could laugh now. It would stop soon enough. 

“Can I borrow a shirt?” Gary asked.

Harry was still laughing, but stood up and went into the bedroom, returning with a crisp white shirt. “Shall I take a look at your hole- at your bullet hole first?” He winked.

Gary couldn’t help it, it made him laugh. “Ow!” he said, sounding almost offended. “Don’t make me laugh, it bloody hurts.” 

Harry shrugged, and motioned for Gary to follow him to the bathroom. 

****

After Harry had cleaned and re-bandaged the wound with fresh bandages, Gary put on the shirt Harry had given him. 

It was slightly too long, but he just rolled up the sleeves and tucked the shirt into his trousers. He put on his socks and shoes, asked for a plastic bag, which Harry gave to him without even asking what for, and put his chauffeur jacket into the bag. 

“Thanks babe,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss. Harry could tell he was halfway expecting him to pull back, but he didn’t. He let Gary kiss him on the lips, who smiled shyly at him and then asked “Are the streets safe?”. Obviously he didn’t want to walk right into the hands of a policemen when he walked out the door. 

“Not my problem.” Harry said, smiling cheekily. He lightly pushed Gary along the hallway, with Gary walking backwards, while kissing him once again. Then he shoved him out the door and closed it. 

He could hear manic laughter through the door. For some reason, it made his heart flutter. 

He was so fucked.

****

He didn’t hear from Gary for a few days after that. He hated how much the young man was on his mind, and he especially hated that he was worried about him. What if the wound got infected after all? What if he got caught? What if, what if, what if… so many what if’s, he didn’t try to think about.

Kingsman kept trying to find Gary, though they called him ‘prime suspect’, but came up empty. They knew he was involved in the Tate Modern and in the death of Carlton Wealer, but beyond that, there was no information about him. His face was not in the database, and it was the only lead they had. 

The prints on the packaging were Charlie Heskeths, which was good news since it meant he was still alive. Eventually Percival took Harry along with him to the Arling-Smith family and showed them Gary’s picture, but they did not recognise him. This time, Harry and Percival agreed, they were telling the truth. 

As promised, Harry had found a new gun on his desk the morning after Merlin had stopped by, and he was glad he wasn’t going out unarmed anymore. He tried to do his job, to chase leads the same way he would have done if he didn’t know Gary, which, he argued with himself, was kind of true. He couldn’t keep his mind from drifting away, thinking about the way Gary had looked when he was sleeping. Or the way he had looked in Harry’s shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Gary was constantly on his mind. Harry stopped fighting it. He just hoped he would see him again soon.

****

On the fifth day, he opened the door to someone holding a ridiculously big bouquet of flowers. It was a beautiful mix of various types of chrysanthemums, gerberas, pear blossoms and other flowers. Gary’s head appeared from behind the flowers, smiling widely. “Good evening, babe.” 

“Don’t call me babe.” Harry said. 

Gary just shrugged, or at least Harry thought he did, because the flowers moved up and down as if he had, and he held the flowers out to Harry, who took them with much difficulty. 

There had to be hundreds. He had to put his arms around the stems, because only his hands wouldn’t suffice. “Thank you,” he said, and it surprised himself that he meant it. 

Gary scratched his head, mussing up his hair a bit, and mumbled “You’re welcome.” He was wearing a tux, but no bowtie. 

“Come in,” Harry said, telling himself he only said it because it was polite and so he could keep an eye on Gary rather than letting him roam the hallway, where a nosy neighbour could spot him. Harry went inside, just barely able to look over the huge bouquet, and heard Gary close the door behind them. Harry carefully laid the flowers down on his kitchen table, and went to his cupboard, looking for a vase that would be big enough. He doubted he owned one of that size. 

“Do you like them?” Gary asked. 

Harry hesitated. He did. He just didn’t like Gary giving them to him. This whole thing, asking him out on dates, bringing him flowers… it made Harry uncomfortable. It was all just a game, right? But then why did Gary seem most sincere in these moments, when he nervously asked Harry if he liked something, or thanked him for being there with shy smiles and careful touches? When he was sobbing in his arms? 

“I do,” he said eventually, without turning to look at Gary. There was no vase that was tall enough. He walked back to the table. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” he asked. 

Gary looked at the flowers and pressed his lips together, as if he was silently cursing himself. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I suppose it is.” Then he grinned, and became dangerous-Gary again. “Came in handy though, since nobody saw my face carrying that shit through the streets. On CCTV they’ll only see some bloke carrying a bouquet that’s almost bigger than himself.” He chuckled. 

“We also have to walk back,” Harry pointed out. 

Gary nodded. “I know, babe. That’s why I brought this.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a mask, one of those venetian ones that covered half the face. 

It had a Joker-motif on it. Nice touch. Subtlety really was a foreign concept to Gary. “You know that wearing a mask will only make you stand out more, right?” Harry said disapprovingly. 

Gary waved the comment away. “It’s London, babe.” 

“Don’t call me babe.” It had almost become a habit. Gary had a point though. A man in a mask was really not the weirdest thing that Londoners might see on an average night out. 

“Besides,” Gary continued, “It will not stand out at a masked ball.” 

“Seriously? A masked ball? Where did you get that invitation? At the opera?” 

Gary laughed. “Musical references. Nice.” 

“And I will stand out there. Not having a mask and all.” 

“Are you not wearing a mask right now?” Gary asked, smiling politely, but his voice had gone cold. 

Harry didn’t answer, and the weird moment faded as quickly as it had started. 

Gary pulled out a similar mask. “Here you go,” he said, and gave it to Harry. 

“I assume I should wear my tux as well?” Harry asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Are bowties frowned upon in this particular masked ball?” he asked over his shoulder while walking to his bedroom. 

Gary followed him, and blushed a bit. “I don’t know how to tie one,” he admitted.

Harry smiled at him. It was endearing. “I’ll help you,” he said with a wink, and took off his Kingsman suit while Gary watched. The tux he took from his closet was bullet-proof as well, though he didn’t mention that. He put the tux on, tied his bowtie while giving Gary an unimpressed look via the full-length mirror, and then took another bowtie from his drawer. He went to stand behind Gary, and tied it for him. 

“Thanks babe,” Gary said. He touched the bowtie softly and looked at himself in the mirror. 

“Looking good, Gary.” 

“Feeling good, Harry.” Gary smiled at him in the mirror, then he turned around to face Harry.  
“So, we’re finally going on our date,” he said excitedly. 

Harry smiled at him. He was really relieved that Gary was alive, healthy, and his usual cheeky self. “Yes we are.” It was odd, but he really looked forward to it. It was incredibly stupid of course, going somewhere with a man whose photo was being shown on the news every night. But Harry quite liked danger. 

Gary put on his mask, and Harry did the same.

Gary was pleasantly surprised at how cheerful Harry seemed. But then again, he reminded himself, Harry didn’t know who would be at the ball. So he just smiled when Harry took his hand, and they went outside, where the city lights were shining down on them like stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit long, but I didn't want to split it. More about their date next time :)


	7. Every other agent... (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go on their date, and the rest is smut. Smut, smut, smut. Smut.

He only noticed he was holding Gary’s hand when Gary said “This way, babe,” and gently pulled him into an alleyway. “This is shorter,” Gary mumbled. 

Harry realised that he himself had been the one to take Gary’s hand this time. It was strange how it had felt so natural he didn’t even think twice about it, and now it made him uncomfortable. Not the fact that they were holding hands, but rather that he had done so without having a motive for it. He didn’t let go though. Rather, he decided that he wouldn’t worry about a thing tonight. Instead, he would just try to enjoy himself. He looked to his side, and couldn’t help but think that Gary looked amazing in his tux. “I thought you’d take me to a museum for our first date,” he said teasingly. 

Gary looked at him and smiled widely. “You remember,” he said. It seemed to surprise him. 

“Of course I do,” Harry said. That night had changed his life, possibly forever. Even if he wanted to, how could he forget? 

“Well, this seemed more fun.” Gary said. “We can go to the Natural History Museum another time.” 

Even with the mask on Harry could tell Gary was blushing as he said that. “Perhaps,” Harry said evadingly. “Now, Gary, how DID you get the tickets for this ball? It seems rather ‘high society’. No offence.” 

“You don’t think imma high society kinda fella?” Gary asked, purposely exaggerating his accent. “I’d almost feel offended. And please don’t call me Gary. I’ve never liked that name much.” 

So it wás his real name then. “What should I call you?” Harry asked. 

Gary chuckled and swung their interlocked hands back and forth. “You can call me Darling if you want.” He gave Harry a cheeky grin. 

Harry had a better idea. “I’ll call you Sweetums. And you should call me mister Sugarplum.” 

Gary burst into laughter, it echoed loudly through the alleyway. “Aaauuu!” Gary groaned, laughing. “Don’t make jokes, my ribs hurt!” 

“I wasn’t making a joke, I’m serious, call me mister Sugarplum.” Harry said as earnestly as he could. 

Gary breathed in shakily, trying not to laugh. “Jesus,” he said, still giggling. “Mister Sugarlum. Pfffffffttt”. 

They walked for quite some time, and Harry knew that if it wasn’t for Gary’s face being shown everywhere, they would have taken the tube. Gary was insanely reckless in some ways, but not stupid enough to go on the tube with a mask on. It only took one person feeling unsafe and calling the cops, or one underground employee demanding they take their masks off for them to be exposed. 

“Did you rent that tux?” Harry asked.

“Is this the tailor in you shining through?” Gary chuckled. “Fits better than the last one, doesn’t it?” 

“That’s setting the bar rather low, but yes. It’s a very good fit.” Harry admitted.

“Thanks. Mister Sugarplum.” Gary laughed, clutched his ribs, and said “I’m not renting it. We’re almost there.” He didn’t elaborate on where he got the tux. 

They were in the heart of London, where the restaurants were expensive and everyone wore a suit or gown. In the distance, Harry saw a woman step out of a cab, wearing a mask and a beautiful purple evening gown. She went into the restaurant directly in front of her. Gary reached into his tux and pulled out two tickets. Harry let go of Gary’s hand and took his ticket. 

Masked ball  
Invitation only  
Cellar

And the date and the address of the restaurant. No name of sender or receiver, no further information. Not even a dress code, though apparently Gary had known it was black tie, like the woman in the formal gown. “Who exactly invited you?” Harry asked. He kept his voice down, since they were approaching the restaurant and there was a bouncer waiting for them. He was wearing a mask as well, made of green plastic, that covered his entire face. 

Gary grinned at Harry. “I wasn’t exactly invited. It’s a good thing these invitations are anonymous, right?” 

Yes, very good. One hell of a coincidence. Perhaps Gary was the one who sent the invitations. He had somehow managed to get over a hundred known criminals to go to a modern art museum. This seemed like a small feat in comparison. 

“And who’ll be there?” he asked. 

Gary smirked. “More like ‘who won’t be’, babe.” he said softly. Then he raised his voice. “Good evening Sir.” He extended his ticket to the bouncer, who ripped the ticket and held out his hand for Harry’s. He wordlessly ripped that ticket as well, and gave both tickets back to them. 

Inside the restaurant, the tables and chairs had been pushed aside, though the dents they had left in the carpet were still visible. There was no one in the entire restaurant, even the woman that had gone in just before them was nowhere to be seen. Across the room there was a flight of stairs, which they descended. They were met with waltz music coming from downstairs, and the sound of many people talking. The cellar of the restaurant had been turned into a dancefloor for this occasion. The middle of the room was emptied, for a makeshift dancefloor, with a live band of cello players, brass players and singers on a low podium. There was a buffet of sorts to one of the sides of the large room, full of drinks and appetizers. Some standing tables were in the corners of the room. Roughly sixty people were on the dancefloor, most of them dancing in pairs, some navigating through the dancers on their way across the room, or mingling with each other in groups. The room was dimly lit by the big chandelier on the ceiling and some fake torches on the walls. 

As was his habit, Harry scanned the room quickly, finding that it didn’t look like anyone was armed. He noticed something else as well. “We are the only gay couple here,” he said, leaning down a bit so he could say it quietly into Gary’s ear. 

“Aw, babe! You called us a couple!” Gary beamed up at Harry, and for the millionth time Harry wondered if it was sincere. 

“You know what I mean,” he said. “And we are some of the youngest guests. Well, you are. I fit right in.” That wasn’t true, he was still some ten years younger than most guests.

“How can you tell their age?” Gary asked. 

Harry smirked down at him. “Kingsman,” he said simply. When Gary pouted, he chuckled and said “I can tell by the way they move. Look at them, do you notice their stiff steps and hanging shoulders? Also, lots of them have grey hair, while others have obviously died their hair, and some have comb-overs or are bald. With many of them you can see the wrinkles in the corner of their mouths and the spots and wrinkles on their hands and necks.” 

“Impressive,” Gary said softly, “this is kinda turning me on.” 

“And you haven’t even seen me kill a person with a plastic fork yet.” Harry quipped. 

Gary’s jaw dropped. “You can do that?” he whispered in awe. 

Harry laughed softly. “Sure. Does that surprise you?” 

Gary seemed to remember Clyde Harris. He shook his head with a grin. “I like my men dangerous,” he said, and squeezed Harry’s bum. 

Harry took his hand again to keep him from doing that. “May I have this dance?” he asked formally, knowing full well which effect the question would have, and sure enough, Gary blushed and smiled shyly. 

“Of course,” he mumbled. “’m not a good dancer though…” 

“That’s alright,” Harry said, placing his right hand on Gary’s back, just below the shoulder blade, and taking Gary’s right hand in his left. “Put your hand on my arm,” he said, which Gary did. 

Gary was right; he wasn’t a good dancer. 

Harry kept grinning like an idiot whenever Gary clumsily stepped on his feet and apologised. They were both aware that the other guests had noticed them. Not only was Harry visibly older, even with the mask on, it was also very clear that Gary didn’t feel at home here. Harry leaned in closer, not caring what the others might think of that, and whispered “They probably think I ditched the wife and am here enjoying myself with my young male lover in the privacy if a masked ball.” 

“Aren’t you?” Gary said, but the quip got lost in how uncomfortable he looked while saying it. 

“I don’t have a wife,” Harry said with a wink, not sure why he winked, since it was not very visible through the small eyeholes of the mask. 

Suddenly Gary clasped his arm harder. “Heads up. Chester King has entered the building,” he said on the tone of a sports commentator. 

Chester King. Arthur. 

Harry not-so-subtly spun the both of them around, totally out of tune with the music, to look behind him. The man who was walking in with a woman on his arm could indeed be Chester, but he wasn’t sure, not from this distance, not with the masks. “Are you insane?” he hissed at Gary, though they both knew the answer to that one. “Did you know he’d be here?” He turned them around again so Chester would not see his face. 

“Of course,” Gary said. “Don’t worry about it, babe. He isn’t expecting you here, so he won’t recognise you, even if he would look around, searching.” He looked over Harry’s shoulder, following Chester with his eyes. “He’s not a field agent, is he? Never been?” 

“No,” Harry confirmed. “ But that doesn’t mean he is an idiot.” 

“Meh,” Gary said on a ‘that’s debatable’-tone.

“What are you playing at?” Harry whispered angrily. 

“Nothing,” Gary said innocently. “This is simply a date.” 

Gary had known Chester would be here. And he hadn’t warned him. Did he want to expose Harry? Was that the stupid endgame he refused to talk about? Would he simply take off his mask, announce himself as the Tate-bomber, the policemen-shooter, the Wealer-murderer, and ask to be taken into custody? And would he then, as he was being tackled to the ground, grin up at Harry and say “and he helped me all along!”? He could prove his lie. He had the weapons, somewhere. He had Clyde Harris, somewhere. He had a phone with Harry’s texts, discussing a meeting. Sure, the tone was flirty, it was about breakfast, not a plan to kill someone, but still… it was one more tie between the both of them, one more nail in Harry’s coffin. 

“Harry,” Gary said softly. “Don’t be mad at me. Chester won’t recognise you. He won’t recognise me. And this is a date. Please try to enjoy yourself.” 

“Is this a mission?” Harry asked. That was another thing he owned Gary; them going on a mission together. Was this it? He didn’t bring his gun. He spun then around once more, quickly searching for Chester in the crowd. He was standing close to the wall, chatting with a woman that Harry assumed was his wife. He could tell beyond a doubt that it was definitely Chester though.

Gary grinned. “For you it isn’t. What I do with my time is my own business, isn’t it?” The song ended and Gary took a step back, almost crashing into a woman behind him, which Harry prevented by pulling him closer. 

Gary looked over his shoulder, saw the woman, who had her back turned, and looked up at Harry again. They were so close, even closer than when they were dancing. Harry could feel Gary’s breath on his neck. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you?” Gary said softly. 

Harry couldn’t make out his eyes in the dim lighting, couldn’t know if he was serious or sarcastic. Grateful, or mocking him. 

“Why don’t you get us some drinks, and I’ll deal with my part of this endeavour.” Gary said.

“Your part? What’s my part then?” Harry asked. 

Gary stood on tiptoes and whispered the answer into Harry’s ear. “You just keep me company and look pretty. Nothing more. I promise.” He softly kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Drinks,” he repeated, and walked off the dancefloor, heading straight for Chester King. 

****

Talking to Harry about the gun had put Merlin’s mind to rest. While it wasn’t like Harry to lose a gun, things like that happened sometimes, and he was glad the matter had been solved. That was, until he started thinking about it, really thinking about it. Harry had been acting strange lately. The phone calls he had made with his ideas about who might have demolished the Tate had been quite odd. They had turned out to be extremely helpful, just like Harry’s random idea that Charlie might be in one of his families houses. How did Harry get those ideas? Sure, he was a good agent, but Merlin couldn’t help but feel like the events of the past weeks didn’t add up. It was almost like Harry had insider knowledge of the events, which was something Merlin hated to think, but thought nonetheless. 

He trusted Harry, had always trusted him, ever since they met. They had become best friend practically on the spot, twenty-five years ago, and he had never had a reason to doubt Harry. 

For twenty-five years, he had never considered hacking into Harry’s phone. 

Until now.

****

Harry was glad for the mask, it would hide the obvious concern on his face as he turned his back on Gary and went to the table with the drinks. He was afraid to look in their direction; if he could recognise Chester, he could recognise Harry as well. Still he couldn’t keep himself from looking, he wanted to know what Gary was up to. He hoped that the other people on the dancefloor would block Chester’s view sufficiently that he wouldn’t notice the guy staring at him. 

Gary was walking up to Chester and his date in a straight line. Harry saw them exchange hello’s, then Chester’s wife was laughing at something Gary said, and within a few seconds the three of them were having a laughter-filled conversation. Gary could be charming when he wanted to, Harry of all people should know that, but he wondered if perhaps Gary knew Chester personally. Whether that was the case or not, Gary was engaging them in a conversation that was apparently very funny and very interesting, seeing as especially Chester’s wife kept giggling with her hand covering her mouth. Suddenly, Harry realised what Gary was doing. He was distracting them. If it weren’t for twenty-five years as a Kingsman, Harry wouldn’t have noticed that Gary did it, but he was trained for it, and still he almost missed the moment when Gary’s hand went to the wife’s purse and came out with something securely locked in his hand, something small which he put in his pocket in one fluent motion. 

Harry turned away, pretending to look at the bottles of wine and the flutes of champagne on the table, took two of the flutes at random and strolled along the table to one of the standing tables. From the corner of his eyes he watched Gary laugh with the couple some more, then he gestured towards Harry and seemed to take his leave. 

Harry was glad the mask made it impossible for them to see he was looking at them, and probably obscured his facial features enough for Chester not to recognise him. Gary was right, he wasn’t expecting him to be there, which made recognising someone harder. 

Gary carefully made his way through the dancing couples towards Harry. “Hi babe,” he said cheerfully and put his arms around Harry. 

Because he didn’t want to attract more attention by making a scene, Harry simply did the same to Gary. He didn’t dare to ask him a question about Chester, not in this corner where the music was more quiet and many people were standing at the tables. “Your drink,” he said, let go of Gary and handed him one of the glasses he had put on the table. 

Gary downed it in one go and coughed softly. “In hindsight that was not a shot,” he said. 

Harry shook his head. He was not in the mood for jokes right now, but they couldn’t have a serious conversation here, surrounded by people. “Go to the bathroom in a minute,” he said, and left without waiting for an answer.

****

Gary walked in and was immediately pushed up against the tiled wall. If he was surprised by it he didn’t show it. “Are we gonna shag?” he asked earnestly.

Harry pinned him against the wall with his hands on Gary’s shoulders and gave him a sour look. “No, you’re going to tell me what you lifted off of Chester Kings wife!”

Gary seemed impressed he noticed. “A key,” he answered simply. 

He was angry at Gary’s arrogance, stealing from someone in plain sight, while being the most searched for man in the country. Not just anyone, either. No, of course he had to steal from the wife of Harry’s boss. Right in front of that boss. With Harry standing just across the room.  
“A key to what?” Harry hissed. 

Gary’s eyes darkened. “The truth, hopefully.”

****

Harry wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but Gary insisted they stayed. Harry reminded himself he wasn’t really in a position to argue, and begrudgingly agreed, dancing with Gary as if nothing had happened. Eventually, after nearly two hours of anxiety, Gary had had enough of the party, and softly said “I could go for some fast food, how about you?” 

“Sure,” Harry answered. He was just glad they were leaving. And, he had to admit to himself, he was getting quite hungry as well. 

“Did you have a good time?” Gary asked as they went upstairs and walked into the cool night air. It was almost midnight. 

“No,” Harry said, sounding very grumpy, even to himself. 

“Oh,” Gary said, sounding disappointed. “Sorry. I should have asked if you liked dancing. I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

Harry took off his mask. “It’s not that. Just… why did you take me there if you knew Chester would be there?” 

Gary scratched his nose under the mask. “Perhaps I wanted you to notice me stealing the key.”

“Why? To impress me?” 

Gary chuckled. “If I wanted to impress you I’d take my clothes off.” 

Harry didn’t respond to that, and Gary continued. “I wanted you to be sure it really is her key. So you won’t think I’m bullshitting you when I use the key.” He took it out of his pocket. It was a small, oddly shaped key, like the ones used to lock a safe. “Do you want to keep it until it’s needed? So you can be sure it is her key?” Gary asked.

Harry almost laughed out loud. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” No, obviously he didn’t want to hold onto a stolen key. He would simply memorise the shape of the key. He had a good memory for things like this, he would recognise it. “Gary?” he said, stopping in his tracks, “sorry, I mean, Sweetums?” 

Gary chuckled and stopped as well. “Yeah?” 

Harry put his arms around Gary and pulled him close to his chest. Gary looked up at him in surprise, but was giving him that cheeky, expectant grin that made it clear what he expected to happen. Not yet though. Harry reached into the pocket of Gary’s trousers. Perhaps he had another key in there. It would be the oldest trick in the books. 

“I’m just excited to see you,” Gary said unprompted. 

Harry rolled his eyes and tried the other pockets as well. No key. 

“What I mean is, that that is just my dick you’re feeling.” Gary said.

“I know the joke, thank you. I’m not that old.” 

Gary shrugged. “I just thought that perhaps it wasn’t clear.” 

“It was.” 

“So?” 

“So what?” He smirked down at Gary. They were still standing on the pavement, with their arms around each other.

Gary shook his head, smiling. “You are such a tease. So…. Are we going to yours?” 

“I thought you wanted fast food?”

“I think I will survive,” Gary said.

Why not? He had promised himself he would have fun tonight. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.” 

****

As soon as Harry closed the front door behind them, Gary finally took his mask off. He rubbed his face and mussed up his hair with a relieved sigh. “That’s better,” he said. 

“I’m not sure if it’s an improvement,” Harry joked, gently pushing Gary against the wall of the hallway, “perhaps you should keep it on.” 

Gary laughed. “The mask and nothing else.” 

“And your bowtie.” Harry took Gary’s face between his hands and touched his forehead with his own. He closed his eyes and softly stroked Gary’s cheek with his thumbs, while Gary ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. He could feel the corners of Gary’s mouth curl up in a smile, and he moved one hand to Gary’s chin, angling his head up a little bit. He kept his eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to Gary’s forehead, then he moved down and kissed the corner of his eye. The feeling of Gary’s eyelashes against his lips made him smile, and he kissed the same spot again, then he kissed the corner of his mouth, before tentatively kissing Gary on the lips. It was a careful touch of lips on lips, nothing wild or sexy, but it sent shivers down Harry’s spine. 

Gary slowly parted his lips, and Harry deepened the kiss, he moved his hands down and wrapped his arms around Gary’s waist, pulling him closer. Gary’s tongue touched his lips tentatively, and Harry parted his lips to meet Gary’s tongue with his own. He tasted like the champagne they had drank, and like something else, something sweet. Harry kept kissing him as he turned Gary around and started gently pushing him towards the bedroom. 

Gary was walking backwards and almost tripped once, but Harry had his arms around him and kept him from falling. Gary laughed, his warm breath tickled Harry’s cheeks, then his lips were back on Harry’s. 

Harry let go with one arm and opened the bedroom door, then he picked Gary up, who put his legs around Harry’s waist and kept kissing him, and walked to the bed. He knelt down on the bed and slowly lowered Gary onto the matrass. He smiled down at him. Gary looked so beautiful in his tux, with his hair sticking in every direction and his cheeks flushed red. He flipped Gary’s collar up, and Gary started laughing when he realised what Harry was doing. 

His laugh was beautiful, loud and sincere. 

Harry put one finger behind the bowtie and moved it up, until it went over the edge of the collar and was now on Gary’s skin. He grinned at Gary and leaned forward to kiss him, then he unbuttoned Gary’s tux and pulled him up by the lapels, so Gary was sitting up in the bed, with Harry kneeling between his legs. Harry unbuttoned his own tux and then stood up, took off his tux and hung it over the chair, then he went back to the bed where Gary was shrugging out of his tux, and hung that one as well. Then Harry knelt down on the bed again, and kissed Gary’s neck, while his fingers started on the buttons of Gary’s shirt. With every button he opened, he kissed the newly exposed skin, first the collarbone and shoulder, then the chest, and finally the stomach. He kissed the same path up again, feeling Gary shiver when he kissed his neck, and pushed the shirt off Gary’s shoulders. Gary’s body was lean and muscular, his skin was smooth and covered in birthmarks and freckles. He touched Gary’s chest with his fingertips, letting them trail down and down until he reached the faint trail of hair that started at his belly button and disappeared in his trousers. 

Gary was breathing heavily, looking at Harry with desire and impatience. 

Harry grinned and pulled back his hand, causing Gary to make a frustrated sound, then he took off his own bowtie and started unbuttoning his shirt deliberately slowly. 

Gary had lost his patience, his pupils were blown and he was panting, and he started unbuttoning Harry’s shirt from the bottom up, opening three fourths of the buttons in the time Harry opened the rest. He pulled Harry’s shirt off, grabbed his own shirt as well, and threw them onto the chair, then he let himself fall back onto the bed, giving Harry a perfect view of his toned body. 

Harry placed his hands on either side of Gary’s body and kissed his chest, kissing down again until he reached the trousers. He looked up at Gary teasingly, who was taking shaky breaths and looked frustrated when Harry stopped. 

Harry very slowly moved his hands to the bulge in Gary’s trousers, opened the sole button and unzipped the fly, all as slowly as he could manage. He moved backwards until he could put his feet on the ground, untied Gary’s shoes both at the same time and pulled his shoes off, followed by his socks, then he finally started to pull off Gary’s trousers. 

Gary couldn’t wait any longer, he pushed himself up and placed his hands over Harry’s, pushing down his trousers in one swift motion, then he leaned forward even more and unbuttoned Harry’s trousers as well, pulling them down impatiently. 

Harry chuckled and leaned down, untied his laces and toed off his shoes, pushed down his trousers and took off his socks. 

Gary was sitting on the bed, biting his lip, his eyes were full of desire. He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled himself up by it, then he turned Harry around and pushed him down so Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed. Gary knelt down on the floor and kissed Harry’s stomach, then he grinned up at Harry and kissed his thighs, kissing closer and closer to Harry’s crotch, until he was mouthing at Harry’s erection through the fabric. 

Harry moaned softly and pulled his own hair, which Gary took as encouragement; he hooked his fingers into the elastic of Harry’s pants and pulled at it. Harry pushed himself up a bit so Gary could pull the underwear down. 

Gary licked his lips and kissed Harry’s thighs again, but moved up quicker this time, licked rather than kissed. His hot, wet kisses made Harry shiver. Gary’s tongue flicked over the tip of Harry’s cock and then his lips were around him, sucking and licking, so hot, so wet, so good. 

Harry moaned loudly as Gary placed his hands in the small of Harry’s back and took him deeper. 

Gary licked the underside of Harry’s cock while bobbing his head up and down, until he could taste Harry’s pre-cum, then he stopped. 

Harry’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a mess. 

Gary stood up and took his own underwear off as well. He was right in front of Harry, wearing nothing but his bowtie. 

Harry bit his lip and tore his eyes away with difficulty, then he reached into his nightstand and took out condoms and lube. 

Gary took the condoms from Harry, opened one, and rolled it over Harry’s cock. Then he laid down on his back and pulled his legs up invitingly. 

Harry swallowed hard, the sight of Gary presenting himself was almost too much for him. He took the lube and squeezed some onto his fingers, then he looked at Gary for permission which he received in the form of an impatient “Bloody get on with it!”. 

Gary closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Harry’s finger slipped in with ease, careful and slow. 

“Is this okay?” Harry asked. 

Gary nodded, and held his breath as Harry started fingering him. Gary made an impatient gesture, and Harry carefully added a second finger. “Oh yes, Harry!” Gary panted. The feeling of Harry’s fingers inside of him made his breath hitch, and he arched his back, moaning loudly when Harry hit that special spot. 

Harry kept hitting the same spot until Gary couldn’t take it anymore and moaned “Fuck me Harry!”. Harry carefully pulled his fingers out and moved his hand to his cock. 

Gary forgot to breathe when Harry finally pushed his cock in, maddeningly slowly. It was like he felt him on every inch of his body, Harry was everywhere, the pleasure filled him up completely. 

Harry started fucking him, and Gary wrapped his legs around his waist and his arms around his back to pull him even closer, to have him inside of him deeper. Harry ran his hand through Gary’s hair, pushing it back, and he kissed him, a fast, deep kiss, full of desire and lust and pleasure. 

Gary’s spine tingled every time Harry touched him in just the right way, and he pulled Harry’s hair while moaning unintelligible swearwords. 

Harry had one arm next to Gary’s head, leaning on it, and moved the other one down Gary’s stomach, until he reached his cock. 

Gary moaned as Harry closed his fist around Gary’s cock and started stroking it in perfect rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. Gary stretched his arms over his head, shivering with pleasure, and arched his back, rocked his hips into Harry’s hand, and bit his lips, intending to keep from swearing too much. That plan failed miserably when Harry changed the angle ever so slightly while still jerking Gary off. “FUCK!” Gary groaned loudly, and every muscle in his body seemed to tense up as he came all over his stomach. 

Harry made a desperate sound, pressing his eyes shut as he pounded into Gary a couple of times more, then he moaned loudly and came as well. 

Harry pulled out and laid down on his side next to Gary. He took Gary’s hand and kissed the back of it, looked at the happy smile on Gary’s face and kissed him on the lips. Then he took Gary into his arms. 

After a few minutes, when their heartbeats had slowed down, Gary yawned and said “Shower?”. 

They got up reluctantly, Gary was shivering due to the sudden cold, and Harry rubbed his arms as they quickly went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. They stood under the warm spray, closely huddled together, and Harry almost couldn’t believe how at ease he felt. 

When they were lying in bed again, with Gary’s head on Harry’s chest and his hands in Gary’s hair he briefly wondered what the key was for. He was certain he would find out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the traditional chapter of smut before shit hits the fan. 
> 
> :)


	8. Every other agent... (2/2)

Harry woke up before Gary did. For a while he just looked at him, at his slow breaths and his messy hair. Then he got out of bed, careful not to wake Gary, and got dressed. He didn’t know what to think of last night, just that he didn’t regret it. As he was buttoning up his shirt, Gary woke. 

“Damn, I always wake up just a little too late,” Gary said, and yawned loudly. 

“So it seems,” Harry replied. 

“What time is it?” Gary asked. 

Harry looked at his watch. “It’s seven thirty-five.” 

“Oh shit,” Gary said, and jumped out of bed. “I’m running late.” He started putting on his clothes. “And I’m in a fucking tuxedo. Fuck!” He seemed annoyed with himself. Apparently he had not expected to stay over tonight. Or he hadn’t expected to wake this late. 

“I assume you have no time for breakfast?” Harry asked. 

Gary gave him an almost apologetic look. “Sorry. Gotta hurry.” 

“Do you need a bowtie with that?” Harry asked, thinking of the wet bowtie that was lying in the sink. 

Gary blushed, remembering as well. “I’ll pass,” he said, picked up his mask and looked around to see if he was forgetting anything, then threw his arms around Harry’s shoulders and kissed him. “Bye babe.” He started to walk to the front door, and Harry followed him. 

Damn, he really was in a hurry. “So, what are you up to today?” Harry asked. 

Gary turned around with one foot already out the door, and shrugged. “I told you a few days ago, didn’t I? I need to kill someone I once cared for. And there’s something else.” He blew Harry a kiss and closed the door.

It was only when he had been gone for a few minutes that Harry realised that this ‘someone’ could be Charlie.

****

Harry walked into Kingsman HQ to see Merlin coming towards him with big, angry steps. Before he knew what was happening, Merlin had pushed him into a corner and was looking at him with a mixture of disappointment and pure rage. 

Merlin hardly ever lost him temper. The only time when Harry had heard him yell was when Percival spilled his coffee over one of Merlin’s keyboards. But now he was even angrier. “You have some explaining to do!” he hissed. 

Harry frowned, looking at Merlin’s hands on his shoulders pointedly, but Merlin didn’t let go. Harry’s brain went into overdrive. What had happened? Merlin had believed his explanation about the guns right? There was nothing he could know about Gary.  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, and he hated that a little bit of guilt crept into his voice. 

Merlin tapped his finger against his collar impatiently. “I want you to tell me, right now, which game you’re playing!” he demanded. 

Game. 

Was is just an expression, or did Merlin know? Harry paled, he could feel the blood drain from his cheeks, and he swallowed hard. He wasn’t allowed to tell Merlin. If Gary found out, he’d kill them both. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Merlin looked frustrated and sad, he took a breath as if to steady himself, and said softly “I know you are involved with Wealer’s murder. Somehow.” 

Harry’s heart sank. Oh no. How? 

Merlin looked as if he was going to say something else, but then Percival came running around the corner and Merlin backed off. 

“You found him!” Percival said. “Fucking finally. Come on Harry!” he motioned for Harry to follow him. 

Merlin shot him one last angry look and stormed off. 

Harry had no time to talk to him, he ran after Percival and fell into step with him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Arthur,” Percival said. “We don’t know what exactly, but you and me need to go to his house, something happened.” He looked at Harry. “I texted you, and I know Merlin did as well.” 

Harry took his phone out of his inner pocket and yes, he had six missed messages. His phone was on silent, which he never did. Gary. “Apparently I turned it on silent,” he said. “Sorry.” 

Percival shrugged. “Happened to me all the time.” 

Harry smiled. He remembered the playful banter between James and Percival about Percival never texting back because he had his phone on silent, to which the reply usually was that Percival wouldn’t have heard it anyway over the sound of explosions. 

Harry quickly read his texts as they walked to the car. One was Gary apologising for leaving in a hurry, four were Merlin telling him to get his ass over to Kingsman with an increasing use of expletives, and the last one was a very casual one from Percival asking if he was on his way or not, because Merlin was starting to pace around like a madman. 

Percival drove, while giving Harry all the information he had, which wasn’t a lot. Apparently, Arthur had called Merlin after getting a distressed call from his wife. Merlin hadn’t said what was wrong, just that Arthur requested the two agents to come as quickly as possible. “I don’t think Merlin even knows, he was really pissed off when he told me to find you and go.” Percival said, while typing the address into the GPS. 

“He’s pretty annoyed lately, isn’t he?” 

“I gather you aren’t wearing an earpiece right now?” Harry asked. 

Percival chuckled. “This time I was smart enough to switch it off.” 

Harry thought about it. He hadn’t been at Kingsman as much as usual, due to Gary constantly whisking him away somewhere, and when he had been, he’d been distracted. He wasn’t sure if Merlin was behaving differently from usual, he only knew that Merlin had never been this angry at him before, and there was nothing Harry wanted more than to clear the air between them. He needed to find out what Merlin had meant when he asked which game Harry was playing, and he needed to convince Merlin he was not involved with Wealer, without mentioning Gary. 

“Have you ever been to Arthur’s house?” Percival asked, drawing him from his thoughts. 

“No, you?” 

“Nope. I don’t believe anyone has. We’ll be the first ones.” He grinned at the thought. Then he got serious again. “I wonder what’s happened.” 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “me too.”

****

“Holy fucking shit. No offence Mrs King.” Percival looked at the sobbing women guiltily, and then back at the dead body on her driveway. He couldn’t hide that he was impressed. 

The dead man was lying on his stomach, completely naked, and was covered in black writing, from head to toe. The lines of black letters were crooked and the letters uneven, but the handwriting was neat, very readable. Some were coordinates. Others were descriptions. All were locations of some sort. 

Percival whistled and read a line on the man’s arm out loud “Behind a little barn (brown or black), on Calanderroad in Conway, Arkansas, USA.” He looked up at Harry, with an inappropriate smile on his face. “What do you think we’ll find there?” 

Harry tore his eyes off another description on the man’s leg, and softly shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. He could guess though. There were bruises all over the man’s body, and while Harry couldn’t be certain just yet, he was pretty sure the man’s neck was broken. “Shall we turn him?” he asked. 

Percival looked way too excited at that proposal and went to the car to get gloves. Not a minute later, Harry’s hunch proved to be true. Clyde Harris stared up at them with cold, dead eyes. His stomach and chest were covered in writing as well, but what really drew Harry’s attention was the bullet hole in the middle of his chest. Post-mortem, that much was clear, but why? He’d obviously been refrigerated, since he was in near perfect condition. 

Percival carefully lifted the arm and tried to bend it, looking at Harry with confusion and glee. “This guy’s been dead for some time,” he said cheerfully. “Been in a freezer, most likely. Are you okay? You look a bit pale.” 

There was no sense in hiding it, was there? “I know him,” Harry said. Percival looked shocked, and Harry quickly clarified himself. “That’s Clyde Harris. The man who killed all those girls years ago. I’m guessing these are the locations of the bodies.” 

Percival’s jaw dropped. “Clyde Harris? The guy who-“ 

“Yes,” Harry said curtly, cutting him off. Indeed. The guy who tortured Harry. The guy they were never able to catch. 

“Damn. Well, by the looks of it, he at least got some kind of comeuppance.” It was clear that Percival didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. “But why dump him at Arthur’s?” Percival mumbled. 

While he asked it, they both found the answer at the same time, scrawled on Harris’ abdomen in the same black ink with which the directions were written. It wasn’t very noticeable at first, there was nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the writing, except for the fact it wasn’t a description. It was a declaration. 

“All these women have been killed by me, Clyde Harris. But you already knew that, Arthur.”

****

Harry did his best to console Mrs King, while trying to make sense of all of this. It was obviously Gary’s doing, but why did he call out Arthur? And Gary had left perhaps half an hour before Harry arrived at Kingsman. That couldn’t have been enough time to move a dead body, could it? 

Percival was outside, waiting for the Kingsman forensic division to come and pick the body up, while Harry was making tea in Chester’s enormous kitchen, letting Mrs King cry. He understood now why Arthur had requested that Percival and him would go; not only did almost nothing faze them, they also could handle crying people quite well, unlike Tristan. So Harry calmly handed her a cup of tea and waited. He would have to try to get some answers out of the sobbing women. 

Once she had calmed down enough, he could finally start to put the pieces of the puzzle together, or so he thought. Instead of it making sense, it just became weirder and weirder. The first illogical thing he found out, was that this wasn’t the Kings family main residence. This was, in fact, a hardly-used second home, which Mrs King cleaned every month ‘just in case’. He recalled the conversation he’d had with Percival about rich people and their obsession with multiple houses. If she only was here once a month, on every first day of the month, that meant that Gary had known she would be here today, which in turn meant that he had been watching the Kings long enough to discover this routine. The second thing she told him was that she had gone inside, and then went outside again not fifteen minutes later, which was when she found the dead body and called her husband. So Gary had known at what time she’d be there, and had acted incredibly fast. It was almost certain he had had help with that. 

It was odd though. To deliver the body to this house. It was clear that Mrs King would find him, not Arthur, though the body was so obviously a message to him. Or perhaps that was the message. A tactic to scare his wife. To somehow put her under pressure? But the body was also connected to Harry, since he’d been the one to kill him, though no one else knew that, and he had been the one to have been held prisoner by Harris, which every Kingsman knew. 

Percival knocked on the window to signal that the forensic division had arrived. 

“One last question, Mrs King. Is there a particular reason Chester did not come here himself after you called him?” he was relieved he managed to make it sound like it wasn’t an accusation. 

She sniffled softly. “Because he was in a very important meeting. It will take hours, probably.” 

Harry thanked her for cooperating and assured her that a trauma-team would be there shortly, then he went outside, where the body was being put into a body bag. Arthur’s meeting, the one that would last hours according to his wife… this meeting took place every four weeks, more specifically every twenty-eight days, always on a Saturday. This was not a random day at all: it was a day that only occurred very rarely; a day when Arthur was tied up in work all day, and his wife went to their second home. But why did Gary need them gone from their first home? It was like Gary could feel that Harry thought of him, because in that moment his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he had no doubt who had sent the text. 

****

The text was a location as well, but instead of the deep south of the United States, it was an address in London. Harry just hoped it wasn’t Chester’s house, though he wouldn’t get his hopes up. They drove back to headquarters and Harry explained to Percival what Mrs King had said about only being there once a month, though he kept his suspicions about the timing to himself. 

In a way he was glad that Gary had ‘paid up’ so to speak; the date had been the condition for him to disclose the locations, but he didn’t like the way he’d done it. And he was worried about Charlie, and hated that he only realised today that Charlie was in serious danger. The only reason he’d changed the price for the date from Charlie’s freedom to the locations of the dead girls was because he had been convinced that they would find Charlie, and since that hadn’t happened, Charlie could be anywhere. He could even be dead already. When Gary had told him days ago that he had to kill someone, Harry had taken that to mean just another criminal, competition perhaps, or someone Gary had a problem with on a personal level. He had never considered that Charlie was of no use to Gary anymore, and therefore he might not care if he lived or died. He thought back to Gary crying in his bed, saying that he cared for Charlie, that he would never hurt him… he wasn’t sure if he believed it. And Gary said the person he was going to kill was someone he once cared about, so it could be Charlie. Something could have happened between them, couldn’t there? He dismissed the theory almost immediately; there had been just a few hours between Gary saying he’d never hurt Charlie and him saying he had to kill someone, and he couldn’t have contacted Charlie or anyone else in the meantime, since he was with Harry all that time. 

Harry dreaded meeting Merlin again. He couldn’t tell him about Gary, so he’d have to lie – again – to fend off Merlin’s suspicions, wherever they were coming from. Still, it was best to just get it over with, so he went to Merlin’s office first thing when they got back to HQ. Merlin wasn’t there. He looked at the address in the text again. He might as well go now. He’d talk to Merlin later. 

****

Harry travelled on the tube for a bit, and walked the rest. The neighbourhood consisted of council estates and run-down shops. Harry felt incredibly out of place in his nice suit. He found the street he was supposed to go and looked around for the correct number. 

“Harry,” someone called out softly from one of the buildings on his left. 

It was Gary, who was looking out the open window of a flat, three stories up. He waved at Harry, who nodded in acknowledgement and went to the door. This was not the number that had been in the text. The buzzer sounded, and he pushed open the door and went up the stairs. 

Gary was waiting for him at the front door of the flat. He looked annoyed for some reason. “Come in,” he said without his typical smile, and disappeared inside. 

Harry closed the door behind him and followed him inside, into the living room. It was a small flat, with cheap furniture, which smelled of cigarette smoke. 

“Sit.” Gary said. 

Harry did as he was told, though he was very aware that this was the first encounter he had with Gary where he actually had access to a gun himself. 

Gary didn’t sit down himself, he just stood a few meters across from Harry, looking at him with an angry expression on his face. His back was to the door. 

“Why did you want to meet?” Harry asked. The atmosphere was very different from what it had been last night. It was tense in a way Harry didn’t like at all. 

Gary didn’t answer. “Charlie, come here!” he said loudly. Soft footsteps sounded through the hallway, then Charlie appeared in the doorway, hesitating when he saw Harry. “It’s okay, come in.” Gary said, without taking his eyes off of Harry for a moment. 

So Charlie was still alive then. Harry felt relieved, but did his best not to let it show. What was Gary playing at? 

Charlie looked at Harry shyly and went over to the wall to Gary’s right. He leaned against the wall next to the window, with his hands behind his back, and looked at the floor. 

“Put your hands in the air,” Gary said softly. 

For a moment Harry thought he meant Charlie, but Gary nodded at him and Harry slowly did as he was told. 

Gary wouldn’t kill him. He hadn’t broken the rules. Right?

Gary reached into his jacket and took out Harry’s gun. He pointed it at Charlie’s head but addressed Harry. “You are going to take your gun out, and put it on the floor. If I even so much as THINK that you’re going to shoot either one of us, Charlie gets a bullet in his brain.” 

Charlie looked up with a shock. He saw the gun and looked at Gary with wide open eyes, which were quickly filling with tears. Gary meant it, and Charlie knew.

“Okay,” Harry said in a soothing voice, looking at Charlie. 

Charlie didn’t see that though, his eyes were focussed on Gary. He looked scared and betrayed. A kid who sees his father for who he really is for the first time. It broke Harry’s heart. Charlie was a pawn in a game, and he now found out he was expendable. 

Harry reached into his jacket very slowly, and took out the single gun he had on him. 

Charlie had started to sob quietly. 

Gary didn’t pay him any attention. 

Harry placed the gun on the floor in front of him and leaned back on the couch, with his hand in the air again. 

Gary just smirked at Harry. “You finally have your locations, right? Is it really worth more than Charlie’s life?” 

Harry wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe Gary wanted Harry to see him kill Charlie, maybe he wanted Harry to feel guilty for the rest of his life for not negotiating Charlie’s freedom. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” he said quietly. 

Gary cocked his head. “Yes,” he whispered. The soft words seemed abnormally loud. “I also said I would kill you if you broke the rules.” He moved his outstretched arm, so he was pointing the gun at Harry now instead of Charlie. 

Charlie’s legs seemed to give out under him, he sank to the ground with his face buried in his hands, relieved sobs echoing through the small space. 

“So here it goes, Harry Hart. Did you break the rules?” 

What? Of course not! “I didn’t,” Harry said confusedly. What made him think he had? 

“Have you told Merlin you’d be here?” Gary asked coldly. 

“Of course not!” Why the hell was he asking? 

Gary chewed the inside of his cheek, looked at Charlie briefly, who was sitting on the floor with his arms around his knees, softly rocking back and forth. 

He scratched his head nervously, and looked to his right, out the open window. “Okay,” he said, “okay, I believe you.” He laughed, a shrill, nervous sound. He muttered a string of swearwords under his breath, and tapped his fingers against his leg like an impatient school teacher. He was still pointing the gun at Harry’s head, and to Harry’s great horror, he had his finger on the trigger. Gary really didn’t know anything about gun safety. Harry cleared his throat. Pissing Gary off right now would not be a good idea, though he really didn’t want to die due to an accidental twitch of his fingers. “Gary? Would you mind moving your finger off the trigger?” 

Gary tore his eyes away from the window and stared at Harry blankly. He didn’t move his finger. “Who found Clyde Harris?” he asked. 

Why did Gary want to know? What was the correct answer? And would the wrong answer get him killed? “Arthur’s wife.” he said. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Gary snapped. He clenched his fist, and Harry looked at the trigger nervously. 

“Percival and I,” he said. 

Gary nodded, then moved his head slowly from side to side like he often did. “Good,” he said. He was looking at the window again. “You didn’t tell Merlin you’d be here,” he said softly, like he was talking to himself. 

Harry wasn’t sure he expected an answer, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Suddenly Gary ran towards Charlie, with his gun outstretched. Harry jumped up and ran after him, thinking he would kill Charlie, but Gary went to the window instead. Harry stopped and looked past Gary, but the moment he saw it, it was already too late to stop Gary. Gary fired his gun once, and the man who had stepped out of the building across the street fell down like a puppet whose strings had been cut all at once. 

The bullet had hit Merlin in the middle of his forehead. He was killed instantly. 

****

For a moment, Harry didn’t move at all. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be real, how could it possibly be real?

It was real.

He punched Gary in the face with all the force he had, sending him reeling to the ground. Something hit his chest and his vision blurred, he was only vaguely aware he wasn’t hit by a bullet, he’d be dead if it was a bullet, but why was his vision turning to black, was it from anger, or adrenaline, he didn’t know, he only knew that his body was going limp and his thoughts became muddled and he was falling over but couldn’t stop himself from crashing to the floor. 

****

It was one of the many habits of Harry Hart: looking back on a mission gone wrong and trying to figure out where the mistake had been. This time, it wasn’t just about a mission. It was about his private life as well. And there wasn’t just one mistake, there were so many he almost couldn’t believe he had made them all. He had fucked up again and again, and now he was in a positions so messed up that he saw no way out. 

Tied up and blindfolded. It was the kind of thing that happened in movies, not in real life. Certainly not to him. And yet here he was. He heard someone cough a few feet away, and flinched. 

“You are awake.” Someone said cheerfully. 

There was no point in pretending otherwise. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked calmly.

“No. Do you believe me?” the voice asked. 

Harry thought about it. Bits and pieces of the day came back slowly, trickled into his mind in a fragmented manner, waiting for him to put the information together to form the answer to what was going on. He recognised the voice, but he couldn’t place it. Yet. It would come back, eventually. 

“I believe you,” he said. 

“Good,” the voice said. “What do you remember?” 

What did he remember? Many things, none of which made sense. “A body. With words on it.” 

“Go on.” 

“A text message. Gary.” Oh God. The voice was Gary. Why was he tied up? What had happened after he got the text? He had gone somewhere. And he had met Gary there. And Charlie. And then… then nothing. No memories. “I don’t remember.” 

Footsteps approached him, and someone removed the blindfold, which was just a twisted t-shirt. 

While it looked like he had wiped most of it away, there was still some dried up blood under Gary’s nose. He looked down at Harry with a blank expression.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“I shot you with an amnesia dart.” His voice was without emotion.

“Why?” 

“You attacked me.” 

Why did Harry attack him? They were still in the flat that Harry remembered entering. He was tied to the radiator. He knew he would be able to free himself from the ties, but he would have to wait until his body had stopped feeling numb. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to overpower Gary. 

“You don’t remember the last fifteen minutes, do you? The fifteen minutes from before you passed out?”

Harry shook his head.

“Merlin said there are no permanent effects, accept for the memory loss, obviously. I didn’t know you’d be out for that long. For a moment I thought you weren’t gonna wake up ever again. Was afraid Merlin lied to me about that as well.”

“As well?”

Gary put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and sighed. “Harry,” he said softly, and he sounded sad, “there is something I need to tell you.” There was concern in his eyes, like he knew he had to deliver bad news. 

Oh God. Charlie. Where was he? He had been here, Harry had seen him, but now he was gone. 

Gary looked Harry in the eyes and squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Merlin is dead.” 

No.

That was a lie.

Harry’s face split into a nervous smile. “No,” he said. That was absurd. Why would Merlin be dead? How would Gary know? He was lying, of course he was. But then why did this feel like a deja-vu? He knew the answer, he just tried his best to not admit it to himself. Amnesia darts could take away memories, erase the facts from someone’s brain, but they could not get rid of feelings. And Harry felt a deep ache in his chest, a pain that confirmed to him beyond a doubt that Gary was telling the truth. 

“That’s not true,” he said. He looked around. “Where is Charlie?” His mind was trying to distract him from that one big horrible truth, that his best friend had died. If he only focused on everything else, maybe time would simply go back and it wouldn’t happen. 

“Charlie?” Gary said loudly, seeming annoyed. 

Charlie walked in, biting his nails nervously. 

“Drop the fucking act.” Gary said. 

Charlie stopped biting his nails and straightened, his face turned from terrified child to cocky adult in the blink of an eye. 

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Gary smirked at him. “Charlie is a brilliant actor, isn’t he? And you believed everything he said.” He was amused, though still annoyed at something. “Do you really not believe me he’s dead? Do you want to see it for yourself?” without waiting for an answer he motioned for Charlie to help him, and he untied Harry, lifting him to his feet with Charlie’s help. Together they dragged him to the window. 

Merlin was lying on the pavement in front of the building across the street, a bullet wound in his head. 

Harry began to sob. It was true, he had known it was true, but now he had seen it with his own eyes, and there was no hope anymore. People who had been shot in the head didn’t return from the dead, they simply didn’t. 

“How,” he asked hoarsely. His vision was getting blurry again, but this time it was due to tears. Charlie and Gary lowered him so he was sitting on the ground. Merlin. His best friend. Why? 

He wasn’t prepared for the answer. 

“Because I killed him.” Gary looked at him very calmly. 

“That’s a lie,” Harry said, and there was no anger in his voice, only desperation and sadness, because he knew he was wrong. Why would Gary lie? Why would he even try to justify this? 

“It is not!” Gary’s eyes were wide open, glowing with his odd kind of insanity, and this time Harry was certain it was not an act. 

Harry shook his head, he blinked and tears rolled down his cheeks, making his vision clear for a moment before new tears took their place. “Why?” His best friend was dead, and Gary killed him and he just didn’t understand. 

Suddenly, Gary seemed to lose it completely. He slammed the window shut and screamed “Merlin betrayed me! He wanted me dead!” He moved his arms like a petulant child; clenched fists that he held next to his body and shook ever so slightly. 

“Betrayed you?” Harry asked lamely. His brain was working too slowly, he did his best to catch up to the meaning in Gary’s words, but they made no sense to him.

“Who do you think made all of this possible? How did I find all those people I killed in the Tate Modern? How did I find Clyde Harris? How did I know where you would be? MERLIN! Merlin did all of that! He was my in at Kingsman!” 

Harry shook his head, he rubbed his eyes in vain, attempting to push back the tears that kept coming. 

“Why do you care that he’s dead? He is not a better person than I am!” Gary shouted. 

Anger pushed aside the sadness, and Harry looked up at Gary with rage in his eyes. He didn’t care that he was in no position to fight and that Gary was armed. “Of course I care about his death! He was my friend! AND OF COURSE HE WAS A BETTER PERSON THAN YOU! EVERYONE IS!” 

Gary laughed, an insane, loud laugh, and said “Oh really? Did you know he betrayed you as well?! He could have given you the location of Clyde Harris years ago, but he didn’t! You know why? Because Kingsman wasn’t officially working on that case anymore. If he had truly been your friend, he would have given him to you. You know who HAS given him to you? I HAVE! Merlin was so scared of being exposed, he simply ran the dirty work through me! He had personal grudges, grudges that I took care off, because that was part of the deal. Access for favours, that’s how it worked. And he turned on me! HE. Wanted. Me. DEAD. He knew there was a panic button in Wealer’s house and HE. DID. NOT. TELL. ME!”

“That’s not true,” Harry said softly, but somewhere deep inside, he knew it was. Merlin had said it himself, his servers were secure. The dead people in the Tate were specific to Kingsman. Only someone with access to Merlin’s database could have known which people they were looking for. And only someone with Merlin’s skill would have been able to track them down. “Why would he not tell me?” he asked. 

Gary huffed. “Arthur!” He started pacing around. “Arthur only does things that fill his bank account. And these cases didn’t. So he didn’t care about them. Merlin did. And Merlin found them, but Arthur wouldn’t let Kingsman pursue them. So Merlin found me, or I found him, and we helped each other out!” He stopped pacing. “Merlin disagreed with me killing all them folks in the Tate. Said it was too dangerous, that it would lead back to me. But it didn’t.” 

He turned to Charlie. “What are you still doing here? Go back to your family, or go live in Switzerland or whatever. This is over.” 

Charlie looked confused for a moment, but then Gary pointed his gun at him. There was absolute insanity in his eyes, and Harry knew for sure that Gary would kill Charlie if he didn’t leave right now. Charlie knew it too, he held his hands up in the air and walked backwards out of the room. Gary only lowered the gun when he heard the front door close.

“You have no proof of that. Any of that.” Harry said weakly.

“Oh, but I do!” Gary’s eyes were gleaming. “I’ve got the key, remember?” 

Something was trying to grab Harry’s attention, a thought in the back of his mind, a little fact that didn’t add up. He concentrated and waded through the muddled waters of his brain until he could reach it. “Why me?” he asked. Where did he fit into all of this?

Gary smirked, and Harry knew what he was about to say even before he said it. It was the phrase Harry had come to expect and to hate: “You’ll find out.”

****

Harry tried not to look at Merlin when they walked past him. How had no one called the police yet? Too afraid, probably. It was that kind of neighbourhood.

His body still felt a little numb, but he could walk without help, and they were hastily making their way to Gary’s car. As soon as they were driving, Gary started talking, and Harry hated how it made sense. All of it. “Arthur is corrupt. Almost every Kingsman is from old money, and hardly any one of you is married. You think it is too dangerous. You don’t want to leave a grieving wife behind, or even kids. It’s dangerous job, right? But then where does all the money go that you guys inherit?” He seemed to wait for an answer, and Harry gave it to him.

“Kingsman.” 

“That’s what I thought. Every agent has Kingsman in their will. And with some of you, that’s a lot of money. Now, Charlie has told me the whole ‘Oh, we come from rich tailors and we have money because of it’-bullshit, but that money’s long run out. Kingsman thrives on the death of your own.” 

Harry’s head was buzzing. If that was true, then…

“Arthur doesn’t care if a Kingsman dies,” Gary continued, articulating what Harry was thinking, “because it makes him rich. The ‘good’ part, the actually making England safer, is just a bonus to him.” 

“How did you find out? If it’s even true?” 

“Patterns.” Gary said. “See, I’ve been watching all of you for quite some time. And Arthur likes being rich, he fucking loves it. He buys all this expensive crap, right? And I noticed that every time he bought another car, or expensive presents for his wife, or whatever, it is weeks after a Kingsman dies.”

It was too much. It simply couldn’t be true, but then why did it feel like it was?

“What are… where are we…?” 

“Arthur’s house,” Gary replied. “The one he actually lives in, but isn’t at right now. He is tied up in meetings all day, and his wife is, I don’t know, being counselled by Kingsman or whatever. I don’t think he would send her back to their house, but I also don’t think he would send any Kingsmen to his house.” He looked at Harry briefly. “None of you have any idea where he lives, do you?” 

Harry shook his head. There had never been a reason to know. 

“Well, it’s good thing I do.” 

****

The house was huge. It was a mansion rather than a house, with a big fence and a driveway that was more like a road. Six very expensive cars were parked next to the house. “And there are more in the garage,” Gary said bitterly.

“We’re never going to get in.” Harry said. 

Gary laughed. “Yes we are.” He opened the trunk of his car. In it was a Kingsman alarm-disabler. Harry didn’t even have to ask how he got it, and that hurt. Merlin. 

Gary turned the device on, then he went to the fence and said “Give us a hand, would you?” 

Harry linked his hands together, and Gary put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and set one foot in his interlinked hands. He pulled himself up, and could grab the top of the fence. He climbed over it with surprising ease. “Not the first time you break in, I see.” Harry said.

“Fucking sue me,” Gary joked, and opened the fence from the inside. The next house was almost a kilometre away, so they didn’t have to worry about nosy neighbours. “The backdoor is easier,” Gary said, taking out a lockpick set from his pocket while they walked around the house. He opened the lock within a minute. Harry couldn’t help but be impressed. 

The inside of the house was incredibly stylish. Whoever had been in charge of decorating had very expensive taste. “Where would Chester King hide his most prized possession?” Gary asked. 

“Where most people do. Bedroom or office.” Harry said. 

“Then let’s start there.” 

Harry followed Gary up the stairs. They had to try a few doors before finding the bedroom, where they looked under the bed, in the closet, and behind every painting, but didn’t find a safe of some sort. 

The door across from the bedroom lead to the office. Gary confidently took a painting behind the desk from the wall. There was a safe behind it. “What a fucking cliché,” he said, shaking his head at such unoriginality. “Does Arthur live in a Guy Ritchie movie or what?” He looked back at the safe. “Oh fuck.” 

Harry went to see what was wrong. The safe couldn’t be opened with just the key, it had a combination lock as well. Harry grinned. “It’s a good thing I have done this kind of thing before,” he said. 

Gary looked at him in disbelief. “You’ve cracked a safe like this?” 

Harry laughed at his expression. “Sue me,” he said. 

Gary smiled and took a step back. “Well, mister safecracker, show me what you got.” 

****

It took longer than Harry would have liked, but he didn’t have his kit with him, so he had to press his ear to the safe while turning the wheel very slowly. Gary was standing in a corner, not making a sound. It was hard to not let his mind wander to all the things that had happened that day, finding Clyde Harris, seeing Merlin… 

He reprimanded himself. He couldn’t allow himself to think of this. He had to concentrate. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally heard a mechanic click, and waved at Gary excitedly. He didn’t know what he expected to find, only that he was afraid of it. If it was indeed proof of all the things Gary had said, that meant that Arthur was corrupt. But what was the alternative?

Gary held out the key for Harry. His face was grim, and Harry knew he wasn’t sure of what to expect either. He took the key and carefully opened the second lock. The door was very heavy for a small safe like this. 

Gary stood on tiptoes and looked over Harry’s shoulder. 

There was nothing but a stack of papers. 

Harry took them out and laid them on the table. His stomach hurt with anticipation. 

They were will and testaments. 

Gary looked upset, but not surprised. He was pale, and chewed his fingernails while looking at the first testament. It belonged to Lancelot.

Harry felt like being sick when he read the will. Almost all of James' money went to Kingsman. A very small percentage went to someone else, a woman whose name Harry didn’t recognise. A sister perhaps. He moved the will to the side and looked at the next one. The old Ector. He had died for years prior to Lancelot. And he gave almost everything to Kingsman as well. The next one was the old Tristan. More than half his money went to Kingsman. “These are in order,” he said quietly. “The last one to die is on top.” 

Gary nodded, but didn’t say anything. There was another kind of order as well. The total amount of money that went to Kingsman seemed to decrease, while the deaths were closer together. 

Harry knew which name was coming when he looked at the next will. The Lancelot from before James. He kept flipping through the wills until he reached the person who he knew had been the first to die under Arthur’s command. 

There were still more wills underneath it. Strange. He lifted the will and his breath caught in his throat. 

The next name was Harry Hart. 

“What does this…?” he looked at Gary who looked as shocked as Harry did. Gary swallowed hard. “I assume,” he said, “that the rest of the testaments are like a hitlist. And you are right at the top.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	9. Unless you break the rules (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed, decisions are made.

**1,5 hours before:**

Charlie ran out of the building as fast as he could. He didn’t have much time. Somehow, he had to make it to the other end of London. Somehow, he had to reach Kingsman.

And he had to reach it before Gary started the next phase of his plan.

**** 

Harry flipped through the rest of the testaments and then put the papers back into a neat stack. He felt completely calm, the same kind he felt when he was surrounded, with seemingly no way out. It was a moment where all fears just disappeared, and there was nothing left but the job he had to do. “We’re leaving,” he said. 

Gary was staring at the stack of papers. He seemed lost in thought, and Harry thought he hadn’t heard him. He was just about to repeat it, when Gary quietly asked “To do what?”. He didn’t look at Harry. The testaments seemed to draw him in somehow, he kept staring at them without really seeing, as if he was searching for answers within them.

“To find out who else was in on it.” Harry said. If all of this was true, and he was almost certain it was, then he needed to know who else he could trust. 

****

Harry said something, the meaning of which trickled into Gary’s brain very slowly. “To do what?” he asked. What could they possibly do? He had expected something like this, and yet it was different from what he’d thought. 

“To find out who else was in on it,” Harry said. 

Yes, they had to find out… but there were things he needed to do first. Things he might not have the strength to do later. He had stuck to the plan until now, and everything would have happened exactly the way he wanted to, except Merlin…  
he shouldn’t think of Merlin now. It was done. His focus should be on Harry, like it should have been all along. Gary tore his eyes away from the testaments, stopped mulling over their meaning in his mind. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

Harry shoved the stack of papers from the desk under his arm, and closed the safe. 

Gary followed him downstairs. He dreaded what he was about to do, but he was determined to do it nonetheless. What they had just discovered, whatever it meant, could not play a role right now. This was his one chance to ask questions that had bothered him for years. He was determined to get the answers. One way or another. 

****

“Are we going to Kingsman?” Gary asked. He kept his eyes on the road. 

“Yes. I need to talk to Percival. He is the person I trust most.” Not only had Harry known Percival for a very long time, he also thought that Percival would be most willing to hear him out. The thought of Lancelot’s will sent a shiver down his spine. “Are you okay with that?” He was aware that Gary had not revoked the rules yet. There was no way he could tell Percival about his theory without involving Gary in the story. 

“Mmh?” Gary said distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, sure.” It didn’t seem like he was truly listening. 

Harry didn’t mind. How on earth was he supposed to start explaining this to Percival without sounding like a lunatic? Or without sounding like he had helped Gary all along? That was another difficulty, he had to somehow spin the story in such a way that Percival wouldn’t just immediately shoot Gary for what he had done, the murders in the Tate, the policemen, Wealer… he was pulled from his thoughts when Gary suddenly asked “For how long have we been driving?”. Harry looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes, why?” 

Gary fumbled with his sleeve. “Because,” he said “that’s enough time.” 

Harry was about to ask what he meant by that, when Gary let go of the steering wheel, and touched his own watch with his other hand. As the amnesia dart hit Harry in the neck, the last thing he thought was that he really should have seen that one coming. 

****

**10 minutes before:**  


Bus, tube, bus again. He was almost there, and he was getting more nervous by the minute. Charlie was pretty confident, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake right now. He flagged down a cab and jumped in. “Savile Row,” he panted. 

He looked at his phone. He might just make it in time.

When the cab stopped, he ran out without paying. He didn’t have time for things like that. He ran into the Kingsman tailor shop, and came to a stop at the counter. The clerk looked up, startled by the force with which Charlie’s body his the counter. “I need your help!” Charlie shouted. There was panic in his voice. “Galahad! Galahad is going to die!” 

****

When Harry woke up this time, he was in another building he didn’t recognise. He wanted to rub his eyes, but his hands were tied behind his back. 

Gary was pacing up and down in front of him, paying him no attention. 

“You know, it’s really not healthy to get shot twice a day.” 

Gary glanced over at him for a moment, but didn’t stop pacing. He was angry, and stressed. 

“Why’d you shoot me this time?” Obviously Gary hadn’t meant for him to forget anything about the testaments, Harry remembered getting into the car after the discovery, and even telling Gary they were going to Kingsman. This building, however, was definitely not Kingsman. 

Gary shot him an angry look, but didn’t answer. He reached into his jacket, and Harry thought he would pull out his gun once more, but he didn’t. It was the stack of testaments. Gary looked at them with that same weird intensity like before. “Why does every agent put Kingsman in their will?” he asked softly. 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure if Gary was talking to himself or was addressing Harry. Hadn’t Gary answered this question himself before? “Because most Kingsman agents don’t have children or spouses,” he said. 

“Did you know that everyone did this? Or did you think you were the only one?” Gary asked. His voice was flat and he still didn’t look at Harry. 

Harry thought about it, while trying to reach the knots of the rope he was tied with. “I never really thought about it,” he admitted. “I didn’t have a will before I joined Kingsman. Like most twenty-five year olds I suppose.” 

Gary stopped pacing but looked at the floor. 

Harry continued. “It was when he told me I had gotten the position. There was all kinds of paperwork I had to fill in, and one of the things I had to do, was make my will. He said that I could always change it of my personal life changed.” Though Arthur would have assumed it never would. Of all the Kingsmen Harry had known personally, he knew of only one that had gotten married after becoming a Kingsman, and two that had been married already. All three of them had been Kingsmen almost twenty years ago. Most Kingsmen didn’t even date. The only long relationship Harry knew of had been Percival and Lancelot.

“So you didn’t know.” Gary said.

“No.”

Gary started pacing up and down again, clutching the papers to his chest. Something was stressing him out, and it had to do with the testaments, but what was it? Had he not expected this? “What did you expect we would find in Arthur’s safe?” Harry asked. 

Once more, Gary didn’t answer. He was tapping his fingers against the stack of papers, looking at nothing in particular, lost in thought. He stopped suddenly, and looked down at Harry. “Merlin’s will isn’t in here.” 

It was true. He hadn’t really realised it before, but it was true. God, what did that mean? “Did Merlin know? About what Arthur was doing?” he hated that he asked it, but Merlin wasn’t the man Harry thought he’d been. Now the only question was how wrong his image of Merlin had truly been. 

Eggsy shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

That surprised Harry. How could he not know? And also…“Why did he help you?” 

Eggsy smiled bitterly. “I held something over his head.” 

“What?” he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. But it was important. He needed this to make sense, somehow.

“Merlin has skeletons in his closet.” Eggsy said softly. He seemed lost in thought. “Or rather, potential skeletons. And I used them against him.” He stared blankly ahead while he talked. His mind was probably occupied with everything he had found out today. 

“You were playing the same game with Merlin that you were playing with me.”

“No. Not the same. Not anymore.” Gary kept pacing around. Was he waiting for something? Or someone? “Merlin didn’t know I’d involve you. Maybe that’s why he asked you about the weapons, because he wanted to know if I had corrupted you.” His lips curled into a terrifying smile. “But I guess he only started to really piece it together yesterday. He must have hacked your phone. I’d anticipated that. That’s why I texted you the wrong address. Merlin was on his way to kill me.” The same terrifying smile appeared again, disappearing just as fast. He stopped pacing and looked at Harry. “Kingsman is corrupt!” he said loudly. “Arthur, who only wants money. Merlin, who wanted to get rid of criminals no matter the costs. You, who jumped at the opportunity to kill Harris! Tell me Harry, is there anyone at Kingsman who you are a hundred percent certain was NOT in on this in some way?” 

Harry swallowed hard. “I told you before. Percival. I trust him the most, I’m sure he didn’t know about Arthur. If we can just go to Kingsman and talk to him… he will believe us. He will help us.”

Eggsy didn’t believe it. “Why him? ” he turned his back on Harry again, looking at the ground. 

Harry clenched his fists nervously. “Because Percival was in love with Lancelot. He will want to know what Arthur did. He will believe us. He will want revenge.” 

Gary turned to Harry, startled. “They were together?” 

Harry nodded. “Almost from the moment they met.” 

Gary seemed to process this. “How did – how – how did James die?” 

The question surprised Harry. “Did Merlin not tell you?” 

Gary looked up. “I didn’t care.” he said bluntly. 

But now he did. For some reason, it was important now. Harry found it difficult to talk about it, but he had to. “Lancelot was sent on a mission to free a professor who had been kidnapped. He went there alone, but never returned. When we found him…” he stopped. He took a few deep breaths to steady his voice. “He was dead. Split in half.” He heard Gary gasp.  
He hadn’t known, he had genuinely not known.  
“As it turned out, this was not a simple kidnapping plot. It was something much worse. Do you remember the free SIM-cards that turned out to be a hoax?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, they weren’t a hoax. They were all part of a plan, a very big, horrible plan, but we foiled it. The solo-mission Lancelot went on, should have been a three-man mission at least. But we didn’t know that, and Arthur was in charge of allocating resources.”

Gary nodded slowly. “So Arthur saw this as a perfect opportunity to kill James. It was only when you found out what was really going on that he put enough people on the mission?” 

“Yes.” Arthur had willingly sent in James. Harry really believed it.  
“What was he like? Lancelot?” 

Harry smiled to himself. “He was incredible. A very good agent, and an even better person. He was patient, and kind, and saw the best in people, always. He really changed Percival, you know? In a good way. Percival didn’t have a very… supportive family. And Lancelot was there for him. He became his family. We could gradually see Percival change from someone who was always on edge, always scared of messing up, to a confident person. Because he knew that no matter what, Lancelot would love him anyway. It has really helped him a lot.” He stopped talking. No matter what he would say, he would never be able to do their relationship justice. 

Eggsy was tapping his fingers against his leg, he bit his lip, thinking this over. “Percival wouldn’t have let James die. He isn’t in on it…” 

“Exactly,” Harry said weakly. What was going on? The knots around his wrist were tight, and while it could take a while, he was sure he’d be able to open them. 

What did Eggsy want? 

Suddenly Gary was uncomfortably close again, he grabbed Harry by the collar and their faces were almost touching. “Why Percival?” he repeated. Then, out of the blue, the shouted “What did you tell him?”

Harry flinched. He tried to get out of Gary’s grip, but his muscles were weak from the amnesia dart. “I didn’t tell him anything. I swear!” he looked up at Eggsy, tried to make eye contact, tried to show him he was serious.

But Gary wasn’t looking at his face. He was looking at something on Harry’s chest. Very slowly, he let go of Harry’s collar and moved his hands to Harry’s jacket. His fingers hit a bump, and he pressed it softly into Harry’s chest.

It was Harry’s phone. 

Gary’s eyes travelled up very slowly to meet Harry’s. His gaze was cold, insane, there was nothing but cold rage in them. He reached into Harry’s jacket and pulled out the phone. “Who are you calling?” he said softly, not breaking eye contact. 

“What? I’m not-“ he looked at the phone. 

Oh no. How?

While Gary’s finger covered the number, the screen did show that Harry was connected to someone, and had been for the past twenty minutes. 

It couldn’t be. 

He had been tied up all this time. 

He swallowed hard. Gary’s eyes still bored into Harry’s, with the quiet rage that had filled them when he threatened to kill Charlie. 

This was it then. 

Harry was going to die. It was only a matter of time.  
Gary smiled, a vicious, joyless smile. He lifted the phone to his mouth, and while still looking Harry in the eye, finally gave Harry an answer he had been craving. An answer he now wished he didn’t have. It was the last thing Gary said before dropping the phone to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. It was a statement, and a promise and a threat all in one. “Whoever you are, just know this. The endgame is, and has always been, this: Kill Harry Hart.”

****

The one-sided conversation ended. Roxy and Percival looked at each other, then at Charlie, who was biting his fingernails nervously. 

“What are we going to do?” Roxy asked calmly. 

Percival had gotten more and more pale while listening to the conversation. The parts that mentioned Lancelot had brought tears to his eyes, but he hadn’t made a sound the whole time. “We are going to save Harry. And then we’ll figure out how much of this is true.” He stood up and checked his weapons. Then he gave Charlie a cold look. “And until we know, you are coming with us.” 

****

The phone – his phone – was reduced to pieces. “Eggsy, I wasn’t calling anyone, I-“ 

“I know.” Gary said calmly, interrupting him. He smiled in a very smug way, and ran his hands through his hair.  
Harry didn’t understand. “What do you mean? What’s going on? What is all of this about?” 

“This,” Gary said, gesturing around, “Is just a fucking distraction.”

****  
Charlie sank to his knees. “Please, please no! I can’t go back!” He was sobbing, covering his eyes with his shaky hands. “He’ll kill me!” 

Roxy and Percival looked at each other for a moment. 

Charlie was starting to have a panic attack. “He had kidnapped me!” he said pleadingly. “Don’t make me go back there! Please! I can wait here…” 

“Did you put the phone in Harry’s pocket?” Percival asked. 

Charlie nodded, then he shook his head. “I- I took it and called Gary’s phone and put it back.”  
He looked up at Percival, wiping at his tears. “He forced me to tell him all about Kingsman. He will hurt my family if he finds out it was me. You don’t understand, he has put something in motion, something that will happen to them!” 

Percival was weighing their options. “You always wanted to be a Kingsman,” he said, “Now is your chance.” He grabbed Charlie by the arm, and with Roxy following them, they left the building.

****

“A distraction from what?” Harry asked. 

Gary just smirked. “What do years of training mean to a guy who’s been hit with an amnesia dart? Nothing. One doesn’t need to be good at slight-of-hand to slip an unconscious man a phone. You know, I even put it into the wrong pocket, but it seems you didn’t notice that.”

So he had wanted the person on the other end of the line, whoever it was, to hear the conversation. But why? Who was it? And what did they need to be distracted from? Harry was starting to get afraid. Gary was insane, absolutely insane, and when they were in Arthur’s house, Harry had almost started to forget that. The things Gary said made sense, his mistrust of Kingsman made sense as well, but why did he want Harry dead? Why was that the endgame? And if it had been that all along, why was he still alive?

Maybe this was all part of the game. Harry tried to convince himself that Gary was lying, he wasn’t going to kill Harry, why would he? He could have done so, very often. This was just an act, he had seen this so many times before. And insanity could be faked. But the way he had cried when Harry told him he was worth loving, the way he blushed when Harry complimented him… that was real, right? Harry could only pray it was. His strategy depended on it. He had to get the shy version of Gary back, talk some sense into him, convince him that they were in this together. He was desperate to lighten the mood. “I must have missed that detail,” he quipped. 

A bad move, as it turned out. 

Gary laughed joylessly, frighteningly, and walked up to Harry. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you missed a detail, would it Harry Hart?” He said the name in a posh voice, the way Harry said it himself. “Small details, like my name, like my age, like the series of random events that brought me into your bed.” He crouched down in front of Harry and leaned in close, almost touching Harry’s face with his own. There was nothing sexy about the proximity. There was no warmth in his eyes, only cold insanity. “Small details, like a grenade on a suspect.” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. 

Gary smirked and got up. He turned his back on Harry once more. 

“What do you know about that?” Harry asked. 

Gary kept his back turned on Harry as he answered. His voice was soft, like he was lost in thought, remembering, reminiscing. “More than I would want.” He was silent for a moment. Then the viciousness was back in full force when he asked “Do you remember the first time we met?” 

Harry didn’t need to see his face to know the way Gary’s eyes lit up when he asked it. He had seen it often enough to be able to accurately picture the insanity in his eyes.

“On the building?” he asked. He was confused. Of course he remembered that. It was only a couple of weeks ago, and it was the event that had sent his whole life spiralling. He had thought about that moment so often, he didn’t think he could ever forget it, even if he tried. He’d carry it with him for the rest of his life, whether he wanted to or not.  
“No, not on the building. The first time. When I was a little boy. When you gave me the medal.”  
Everything clicked into place. Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, tears of shock, of confusion, of not being able to comprehend this.  
He had only given a medal once. 

It couldn’t be. 

It had to be. 

Little Eggsy Unwin. Lee’s son.  
“Eggsy,” he said softly.  
Eggsy turned around, took two large steps towards Harry and was up in his face again. “What did you call me?!” he screamed. Little drops of spit flew into Harry’s face, and Eggsy’s eyes were so close to his it was hard to focus on them, but he could still see the mixture of anger and surprise and hurt in them.  
“You introduced yourself as Eggsy.” he said softly. Harry tried to remember a time when Lee had referred to his son as Gary, but couldn’t find it. “My boy” “My son” “The little one” “Eggsy”. But never Gary. It was hard to imagine that the little boy he had seen that day was now standing in front of him, threatening him. That the child who had looked up at him with wide eyes had turned into the man he had slept with. The man who had killed countless people.  
Eggsy took a step back, a look of shock on his face as if Harry had unexpectedly slapped him in the face. “Eggsy,” he whispered. He turned around again, to hide his face maybe, Harry saw him move his hands to his face and cover his eyes as if he wanted to shut out the whole world. Or as if he was crying. There were no sounds. 

A realisation hit Harry. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because of what happened to Lee?” his mouth was dry and he wasn’t sure it was a smart thing to ask, but he needed to know if this was the reason for everything that had happened. He fumbled with the ropes around his wrists. 

Eggsy’s head moved sideways in that typical way of his, and he seemed to pull out of his stupor. He turned to Harry again and smiled a bit. “I could say it was my father’s death that instilled a deep mistrust for authority in me. I could say that it was his death that lead me to grow up with an abusive stepdad, and that that abuse has made me the man I am today. But that is too Freudian isn’t it? It’s just an excuse. Many kids lose their fathers. Many kids get beaten or worse. And they turn into productive members of society.” He cocked his head again and pointed at Harry as if it just occurred to him now. “People like you!” he said cheerfully. A moment later the feigned happiness was gone again. “See, I did a lot of research into this strange fella that announced to us Lee was dead. ‘Who was this guy?’, I asked my mum. ‘Why is daddy gone? Will he come back?’ And you know what she said?” He looked at Harry expectantly, and Harry shook his head. “Nothing. She. Said. Nothing.” He stressed every word. “She didn’t speak to me for a year.” He sounded bitter. “And when she started talking again, she still didn’t answer. So I needed to find out for myself. And that is how I found out about you. About Kingsman. See, not only do you guys not care if you kill a recruit during training, you are also not smart enough to keep an eye on the dropouts. And two years back, there was a very handsome dropout. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? Charlie Hesketh. I really am quite fond of him, you know that? Oh, sweet, sweet Charlie. A decent shag and a brilliant actor. And most importantly, he has a fuck-load of money, and a grudge against Kingsman. Do you have any idea how easy it was to track him down, just bloody minutes after he had left Kingsman after that little train-stunt? I bought him a drink, asked him what was bothering him, and a few hours later I knew everything about him that I needed to know, and had convinced him that revenge was the best policy. He wants Arthur dead, which is convenient, because I can arrange that.” He looked smug when he said that, like he was proud of his ability to kill.

“Eggsy, I-“ 

“You what?! You are sorry?” Eggsy was wiping away angry tears, he looked at Harry with disgust. “Do you know what I expected to find in Chester’s home? Some kind of proof that it was all a set-up, evidence of who was involved, some proof that he killed my dad! And what did we find?” 

Harry kept his mouth shut. The knots were almost open. How could he not have seen it? He recognised it now, the way Eggsy sometimes set his jaw, a gesture of pride that he’d seen Lee do countless times. Every time he advanced in the trials, Lee had looked at his fellow recruits like that, with that smile that showed how proud he was of his accomplishment. He was proud because he proved to them that they were wrong. He proved that a young man from a council estate was just as good as the others. He hadn’t liked his fellow recruits. Except for James. They had gotten along, which made James winning the position the way he had that more tragic.

“We found no proof that my dad even existed! Maybe Arthur doesn’t even know who he is! He only cares about those of you who bring money into the firm, and my dad wasn’t one of them. Is that why you brought him along on the mission? In hopes he would die? Because he was worthless? Because Arthur didn’t want a Kingsman whose death he couldn’t monetise? Did he tell James that there would be a grenade?” Eggsy covered his eyes with his hands, the tears were streaming freely now.

Harry felt numb, not just because of the amnesia dart, but because everything was coming back to him. The sadness over Lee’s death. The guilt he had felt when telling Michelle and little Eggsy. The way it had taken James weeks to get over winning the position like that.  
He had to explain it to Eggsy, he had to let him know his father didn’t die because of Arthur… he died because of Harry. But not in the way Eggsy seemed to think. 

“I… Eggsy, please listen to me, I-“ he wanted to say he was sorry. He meant it. But an apology meant nothing to Eggsy. He needed the truth, he needed an explanation for the event that had flipped his world upside down when he was only five years old. “You think your dad died because Arthur wanted him to? You think I missed the grenade on purpose, to get rid of the poorest recruit?” 

Eggsy didn’t answer, but he looked defiantly at Harry, and he knew that this was indeed what he thought. 

“Eggsy, your dad was an amazing recruit! That was the reason he was there! Because him and James kept making it through the trials! So they BOTH went along on the mission. But I made a mistake. And I misjudged him.”

Eggsy took a step forward, ready to beat Harry up, but Harry finally opened the knots and lifted his hands, not in defence, but to indicate the story wasn’t finished. 

“I started running towards the grenade, but so did your dad, and while I only looked forward, he looked to the side and saw me. And that is when he pushed me, and flung himself on top of the grenade. I didn’t look to the side because I didn’t realise you dad would do the same. That is the mistake I made. I underestimated him.” 

Eggsy hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Harry couldn’t blame him. “You… you wanted to save him?”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. That moment when he finally saw the grenade had been playing on a constant loop in his mind for weeks after the incident. He had started running, not realising that Lee had done the same. “Eggsy… your dad was a hero. He saved my life. He died because he wouldn’t let me save his.” He opened his eyes, blinking away the tears in them. “Are you going to kill me for that?” 

Eggsy stared at him with trembling lips. He was crying as well. “I wanted to kill you,” he said softly. He had a lump in his throat. “That was the plan all along. I blew up the Tate to show you what I could do, to get you to play. And I offered you the chance to kill Wealer and Harris to prove to you that you are a bad person. I wanted you to realise that you are capable of killing innocents. And then you didn’t.” 

Harry wiped his eyes. “Why did you kill Wealer?” 

Eggsy shook his head. “Because my father was a marine.” 

“He would have been sent to the Middle East,” Harry said. He was starting to understand.

“Yes. And chances are, he would have died there.” Eggsy sat down. He crossed his legs and laid the gun down next to himself. “I wanted to kill you for letting my dad die. And because I thought you were…” he coughed and wiped tears from his cheeks, “a bad person. But I only proved to myself that I am.” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to go up to him and console him. But part of him wasn’t sure if this was real. If he approached Eggsy, would he get a bullet in his brain?

“I don’t want to kill you anymore.” Eggsy said softly. “That goal started to crumble when I actually met you.” He looked up at Harry with tear-stained cheeks. He smiled weakly. “You know, I really am afraid of heights.” 

Harry couldn’t help it, the admission made him smile.

Eggsy wiped his tears away and got up. “We have to leave,” he said determinedly.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked. 

“Kingsman.” 

“Why?”

“You’ll find out.”

****  
Roxy was sitting next to Charlie in the back of the car. He had calmed down somewhat, but still seemed to be on edge. She was as well, but not because she was afraid for Harry’s safety, or Charlie’s for that matter. Sure, it was on the back of her mind, but what was really bothering her was that she couldn’t talk freely to Percival now that Charlie was in the car as well. 

Like every other Kingsman, Roxy knew that Percival and Lancelot had been together, so she couldn’t blame him for being distracted by the things they had just heard. But she desperately needed to know if he had picked up on something, something Harry had said, or rather, hadn’t said. Well, she was heart-broken as well, but has noticed it nonetheless. She needed to know whether Percival had genuinely not picked up on it, overwhelmed by sadness over Lancelot, or that he knew, and had a plan. Or, but she dismissed the thought immediately, he WAS in on it. 

He couldn’t be. 

He was still so heartbroken over James, that he never referred to Roxy as Lancelot. He had taken her aside once and admitted with much difficulty that he meant no disrespect by calling her Roxy, that it wasn’t because she was a woman, or because he thought she wasn’t a good agent, but he simply couldn’t use the name on someone else, ever again. 

He couldn’t have known about all of this, he wouldn’t have let that happen. This gave her two options. She could either hope he did know and had a plan, or she had to inform him somehow, but without tipping off Charlie. 

She didn’t trust Charlie, not one bit. She remembered the way Charlie had given up all secrets immediately when the train approached. How he had screamed his father would hear about this. Obviously he hadn’t actually told his father. If he had, both Charlie and his dad would have ended up in a body bag. That was one of the things Kingsman didn’t mess about with. He had been really, really angry when he didn’t make it. 

Wasn’t it strange, that nobody had spoken to Charlie after he left? That he had been kidnapped immediately? And that he now returned to warn them about Harry? This, combined with what Harry had failed to work into the conversation, led her to believe that Harry had really not known that there was a phone close to him. Which meant that the person he was with (who, Charlie had told them when the clerk let him in, was the Tate bomber), was the one who had wanted them to hear it. He had wanted them to hear that Harry was in danger, which either meant that he wanted them to get to where they were, and probably kill them, or he needed them out of the Kingsman estate. Anyway, Roxy was sure there would be more than one dead Kingsman by the end of this. And she had to find a way to avoid that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will all become clear, I promise! Next chapter is the last one, and it is almost finished, so the wait won't be as long as it was this time (my apologies for that!). It became waaaay to long to put it in one chapter, and I didn't want to keep you waiting for any longer. Last chapter will be up in two days, probably.


	10. Unless you break the rules (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything falls into place.

“If you have any amnesia darts left, can I please ask that you don’t use them on me? I’m pretty sure we’ve never tested it, but it might prove to be toxic.” Harry looked at Gary, who was driving again.

“Sure, babe.” Eggsy said distractedly. Seconds later, he realised what he’d said and started to blush. “Please ignore I said that.” 

Harry laughed. “Sure babe.” He ignored Eggsy rolling his eyes. “But what do you want to do at Kingsman? Confront Arthur? Even if we get inside unnoticed-“ 

“Can we talk about something else?” Eggsy said bluntly, interrupting Harry’s worries. 

Harry felt annoyed. This was not a joking matter. Eggsy was, for better or worse, a murderer. And he had already killed one Kingsman. The first person they’d run into would try to arrest Gary, or shoot him at sight. “Okay,” he sighed. “something else. How much of what you did was smoke and mirrors?” 

Gary looked at him for a moment. “As opposed to real magic?” he asked with a smile.

“I mean; all the threats you made, all the ‘something terrible will happen if you break the rules’. Was any of that real? Would you have followed up on it?” It seemed like Eggsy had never really intended to hurt innocents. The people in the Tate were criminals, Wealer had been killed due to a personal grudge, and the policemen because he saw no other way out. 

Eggsy scratched his head and cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable. “I know I’m a bad person,” he said. Harry expected more to come, but that was it. Eventually, after a moment of loaded silence, Eggsy said “It is just as dangerous to overestimate your enemy as it is to underestimate him.” 

It had all been fake then. So this was why Eggsy had been okay with switching the murders of Harris and Wealer for going on a date and a mission. He never intended to harm others, but had to make it seem like he did. All this time, he had been bluffing. Except for one thing: he really had shot Merlin. 

And despite what Harry felt for Eggsy, and despite the things Merlin had done, that was not something Harry could forgive. 

****

The things they had heard left Percival feeling numb. Lancelot had died because Arthur wanted him to. Because Lancelot had had Kingsman in his will. Percival hadn’t received a penny, he didn’t need it, didn’t want it. Lancelot wasn’t in his own will either. But Kingsman was. 

Roxy leaned forward a bit and asked “How much extra ammo have you got on you?” 

Percival looked at her in the rear-view mirror. The look on her face was strangely intense. “One extra clip,” he said. She had a reason for asking this, and it was not because she really needed to know the amount of ammunition they had between them. There was no need for much extra ammo, there were only two people present, right?

Oh shit.

Suddenly, he understood. 

****

Percival didn’t let his confusion show, but Roxy knew that he was wondering why she had asked, as was her plan. “One extra clip,” he said, looking at her in the mirror. Unfortunately it looked like he hadn’t picked up on what she was trying to say. She leaned back into her seat, silently cursing Percival for taking Charlie with them. He was useless, he might not even be trustworthy, and she had always hated his smug face. Granted, he seemed scared now, but Roxy wasn’t all that easily fooled. She wasn’t sure his little panic attack had been sincere, though Percival seemed convinced it was. In a way she was glad that Percival had taken Charlie along with them, it was better than leaving him behind at Kingsman where he could do god-knows-what. 

“And you, Lancelot?” Percival asked.

He never used that name. 

This was his way of letting her know he understood. She did her best not to let her relief show. “Me too,” she said.

Maybe they would manage to not make this fucked-up situation even worse. 

“We don’t have a lot of time on our hands. Should we use it?” Roxy asked.

This time Percival understood what she meant immediately. “Yes,” he said, and in the next moment Roxy’s amnesia dart hit Charlie in the neck. 

Looking at Charlie’s unconscious body, she wasn’t sure how to feel. Maybe he was innocent. Who knew, maybe Charlie had been set up as well. This guy who had kidnapped him, this ‘Gary’, could have let him escape on purpose. But then why would he have had the time to do his little trick with the phones? No, none of it made sense, and the only explanation was that Charlie had wanted them to walk right into a trap. 

Even if they had avoided that by taking Charlie out temporarily, they still didn’t know what would happen to Galahad. But at least Charlie would be safely contained until they found out which part he played in this fucked-up game.  
****  
Eggsy seemed to be getting restless. “Is there another way in? Except the tailor shop?” he asked. 

“Of course.” So he finally agreed that they had to have some kind of discussion about this. “We can go through the tunnel.” 

“Tunnel?” 

“Behind a disused maintenance door in the underground.” The tunnel was hardly ever used by agents, who preferred to go in through the shop or another slightly more developed entrance. But this was the way that would make it most likely for them to get in unseen. 

“So we first need to take the tube, or what?” 

“Yes.” 

Eggsy didn’t say anything after that. Ten minutes later, they were on the tube, and half an hour later they were walking through the tunnel, approaching the stairs that went into headquarters. Without saying anything about it, Gary gave Harry his gun back. 

Harry hoped he wouldn’t need it. 

****  
They walked through the hallway at Kingsman HQ with Charlie’s unconscious body between them. “Merlin’s office,” Roxy said before Percival could ask. She needed to go there, she needed to be sure if the thing she had heard had meant what she feared. 

She opened the door to Merlin’s office with a sense of dread, and clenched her jaw when he wasn’t there. She dropped Charlie on the floor harder than necessary, ignored Percival’s disapproving look, and went over to Merlin’s computer instead. She logged in with her own password, which gave her the bare minimum of access, but enough to see what she wanted. The security-footage around HQ was accessible for all agents, so she could see the two people she expected to see make their way up the stairs a few stories down. 

“Percival,” she said, and pointed at the screen. 

He looked at it with confusion. “At least he’s alive,” he said, and it sounded oddly like a question. Harry and Gary reached the top of the stairs and walked along the hallway. It did not look like Harry was being threatened, but it also didn’t look like he had arrested Gary. It rather seemed like they were equals, carefully manoeuvring through the hallways, stopping before turning corners to listen if they heard footsteps. 

“They are coming here,” Roxy said. 

“Mmmmh.” It was obvious that Percival was doing his best to make sense of all of this, and failed miserably. 

Roxy, however, was starting to understand. She looked at the security footage one last time, and took her gun out of its holster. She pointed it at the closed door. Charlie was slowly regaining consciousness, but she ignored him. For now.   
On the phone, Harry had not mentioned how many people were in the room. He had also not said anything about the amount of weapons. These were the first things any Kingsman agent would work into a conversation if he knew that other agents were listening. It was the only thing they could do in a situation like that to not let their fellow agents run into a situation blindly. Him not doing that meant he had not known he was connected to them. And by whose phone? Charlie’s. And now, Harry walked into Kingsman with a known terrorist, as if they were best buddies. Why?

For now, she only had one question. Gary… who are you really?

****  
Harry thought that he was finally beginning to understand. Gary had deliberate connected him to someone within Kingsman, most likely Percival, so Kingsman would send out a team to rescue him. That would mean there were less Kingsmen present when they confronted Arthur. He must have gotten the number from Merlin, just one of the many things Merlin had provided them with. 

They were going to Merlin’s office, which he was sure would be empty. Even though Roxy had been working there a lot, she would no doubt be a part of the rescue party. Her skills at shooting easily matched Percival’s. Harry felt weird walking into Kingsman like this, with a murderer next to him, a murderer who might have uncovered the most harrowing case of corruption Harry had ever heard of. 

Arthur’s meeting always took place behind closed doors, and not only in a figurative sense. No one would be able to get in or out without Arthur wanting it. But there was a chance that the meeting would not be done with for some time. Harry knew for sure that Arthur would come to Merlin’s office as soon as he was done, to ask him about the dead body his wife had found. It was safest to wait in Merlin’s office.

He opened the door, and the first thing he saw was two guns, one of which was aimed at Gary, the other one at himself. 

****  
On reflex, Harry pulled his gun out as well. After a moment’s hesitation, so did Gary. Not entirely unexpected on Gary’s part, though it was weird at least that Harry apparently had been armed all this time.

Roxy cocked her gun while looking Harry right in the face. If he was on Gary’s side, she had no problems with killing him, and she wanted him to know that. Harry’s shock changed into something else. Not defeat, but understanding. He didn’t look at Roxy, but at Percival. “Are you the one who heard us talk? On the phone?” Harry asked. 

Percival hesitated, not sure if he was giving away whatever small advantage they might have by confirming it. Then he nodded. 

Harry looked exhausted. His voice was soft when he asked “So you have heard the things we said about the testaments? About Lancelot?” 

Percival cocked his gun now as well. “How do I know if it is true?” he demanded to know. 

Gary cleared his throat, perhaps because he was afraid that suddenly speaking would get him killed on the spot. He looked briefly, nervously at Harry, then at Percival’s gun that was still aimed at his forehead. Finally, he looked Percival in the eyes. “Who is Christine Alderson?”

Percival made a sound as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Roxy dared to take her eyes off Harry for a moment to make sure Percival wasn’t physically hurt. He looked from Gary to Harry and back again, and there were tears in his eyes. “She…” his sentence got cut off by a sob. He took a deep breath and continued. “She is Lancelot’s ex. James ex. They…” he stopped, and Roxy knew without him saying it, that there was more to it than that. That there was something that had forged a bond between Lancelot and this Christine forever. 

A baby. 

Or a baby that never was. 

“He has never told anyone,” Percival said softly. “Just me… and…” he didn’t have to finish that sentence. Arthur. Arthur would know, because the only document that linked Christine Alderson to Kingsman, was Lancelot’s will, which named her. Gary had been right. 

“We are on your side,” Harry said carefully. He didn’t lower his gun either though. Again, he didn’t look at Roxy, but at Percival. “Don’t shoot him, Percy,” he said. He sounded sincere and tense.

“Why?” Percival asked.

“He’s Lee Unwin’s son.” Harry said. There was hurt in his voice. Roxy didn’t take her eyes off of Harry, but could nonetheless see Percival’s body language change. He didn’t lower his gun though.   
Everything fell into place. Roxy knew exactly what was going on. She knew exactly what to do. She turned around, aimed her gun at Charlie, whose eyes widened in agony, and pulled the trigger. 

****  
Charlie screamed and dropped the phone. Roxy stepped on it and the phone broke with a satisfying crunch. 

Percival aimed his gun at Roxy now, with a confused expression on his face. Harry, for some reason, aimed at Gary now, while looking at Charlie. He looked as confused as Percival.

Roxy saw the gun and sighed with so much annoyance that it reminded Harry of Merlin. “Okay, am I the only one who knows what’s going on?” Roxy asked.   
“Yes,” the four of them said at the same time, with various degrees of confusion. Roxy rolled her eyes, said something that sounded like “fucking men, always clueless” under her breath, and put her gun back in its holster, totally ignoring the fact that Percival was still aiming at her. She gave him an unimpressed look, clapped her hands mock-cheerfully, and said “Alright, dumbasses. Listen up, it’s story time. I know that everyone in this room is kind of on edge, and some of you have ulterior motives, so I want everyone to put their gun down first, and then I’ll talk you dumbasses through this. Okay?” 

Nobody moved. She rolled her eyes again, took her gun out and aimed it at Harry. “Everyone.” She said calmly. “Put. Your. Guns. Down.” 

Nobody did. 

If looks could kill every single one of them would have died on the spot, but they still didn’t put their guns down. Percival aimed at Roxy, who was aiming at Harry, who was aiming at Gary. Gary was aiming at Percival. Roxy looked Gary in the eyes, and cocked her gun. “Down. Now!” 

Very slowly, while looking at each other suspiciously, they lowered their guns. Harry was, understandably, the first one to drop his completely, followed by Gary, then Percival, whose confusion had reached comical proportions. Once they were all standing up with their hands in the air, Roxy said “Percy, could you frisk Charlie and then make sure he doesn’t bleed out?” Percival looked at her gun nervously, then seemed to think ‘fuck it’ and did as he was told. After establishing that Charlie was unarmed, Percival took off his tie and wrapped it around Charlie’s bleeding hand. 

Roxy put her gun back in the holster, gave Harry an apologetic look, and said “Sorry Galahad, for picking you. It had to be one person who everyone would care for if he died, and you seemed the only choice. Nothing personal.” 

Harry nodded without saying a word. He had never known Roxy could be this ruthless. 

“So, I promised you a story. Here we go. And by all means correct me if I’m wrong.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though I’m pretty sure I’m right.” Something in her expression changed. Instead of annoyance, there was a brief moment of silent rage, and it was aimed at Charlie and Gary alone. “You spoke of Merlin in the past tense,” she said, and there was no emotion in her voice, only determination. “And I want you to tell me which one of you killed him. And I want you to be honest.” Her expression made it clear what she would do if they would lie. 

Gary swallowed hard. “I did,” he said simply. Perhaps it was fear in his voice, perhaps resignation. Perhaps it was the same thing.

Roxy didn’t say anything, she just nodded curtly. “Okay. That clears some things up.” 

Did it? Harry saw Percival look at her in shock. He hadn’t picked up on the past tense. 

“So, again, correct me if I’m wrong. Here is what I think happened. Gary over here, Lee’s son, blamed Kingsman for his father’s death. Harry was the one to give him the medal, so his rage was primarily focussed on Harry. But he held all of Kingsman accountable, so he actually wanted to avenge his dad by killing us all. Somewhere along the way, however, he found out that the person to blame was Arthur, and Arthur alone.”

She turned to Charlie. “Which brings us to this one. Charlie, being the incapable, spoiled, piece of shit he is,” Charlie looked angry, while Percival was nodding absentmindedly, “blamed his not being fit for Kingsman on Arthur. He probably thought that being filthy rich would buy him the position. And judging by what we heard on the phone, Arthur probably hoped that Charlie would make it. Tough luck, asshole.” Percival snorted. Roxy paid it no attention. “So, Gary met Charlie, and they teamed up. I don’t know why anyone would want to work with that little filthy piece of crap, but there you go. Probably because the only thing bigger than Charlie’s ego is his bank account. And ooh, yes, his family owns a demolition firm. So, Gary decided he could use Charlie. He promised him something, probably revenge on Arthur. But how does one kill multiple people at once? With a bomb.” 

Roxy looked at Harry now, and there was something like hurt in her eyes, though her voice remained the same. “I will get back to that one later.” Her gaze found Charlie again, whose cocky exterior began to show cracks under her relentless telling of the truth. “I was there when Merlin found out that almost all the people in the Tate Modern were criminals. And there is no way that Charlie or Gary had the brains to crack Merlin’s server. This means that Merlin was somehow involved.” She held her chin up, but something in her seemed broken. “And since Merlin would never, ever, work with the two of you voluntarily, that means there was something you held over his head. You threatened him with something, and I have been thinking about what it could be, and there is really just one thing that makes sense. You got your hands on a bomb, a bomb that Merlin invented, and you threatened to use it. Unless he helped you with finding these criminals, and putting an end to them. You wanted to do it to show Harry that there was nothing you couldn’t do, and Merlin probably saw the advantages of getting these folks off the street. What he couldn’t know, was that you did not use his bomb on this. You used Charlie’s family. The family that thought he had been kidnapped, two years ago, when actually he was playing house with his psycho-boyfriend. Perhaps you were ashamed to return home after failing Kingsman, perhaps Gary needed or wanted you around at all times. It doesn’t even matter that much, the point is that the two of you still had that bomb at your disposal, and still could bribe Merlin with it.” 

She stared at Charlie for a bit longer, who seemed to shrink under her gaze. “I promised I would explain a bit about the bomb. Now, Merlin likes to brag about his inventions, doesn’t he? And I have spent an insane amount of time in the same office as him. You might ask why? Well, because I like him. Really like him.” The admission didn’t make her uncomfortable in the slightest, in fact it seemed to further her determination. “Merlin told me about this bomb he made. It is like a bullet in many ways: one shoots it with a gun, and if you hit a person, that person will probably die. But one can detonate it, using a cell phone. The design only had one flaw really, and that was proximity. The range of the signal that sends the bomb off, isn’t more than roughly fifty metres. I think that Merlin took it home once, to work on it some more. I guess that is when Gary here either used his pickpocketing skills to steal it, or broke into Merlin’s home.” 

Gary nodded solemnly. All of them were mesmerised by the ease with which Roxy connected the dots. 

“You might wonder where this bomb is? Well, this morning, a corpse arrived at Kingsman. Since Percival told me it had awesome writing on it, I went to check it out. It had a bullet hole, post-mortem. Do you see where I’m going with this? There is a bomb in the morgue. And judging by the size of the bullet hole, it is a bomb with a wide enough radius to kill us all. Like I just said, it is detonated by using a phone. And who did just walk in here with a phone? Charlie. Charlie, who wanted to kill everyone, apparently even if it killed him. Of all the people in here, Charlie is the biggest psycho. And since Gary is present, that is really saying something. Charlie would probably have tried to set it off before we left, but we were in the other end of the building, too far from the morgue. We are within the range now. I’ve just saved all of you fuckers lives. You’re welcome.” 

She looked at Harry, and her gaze was cold and calm. “While Gary might not want to kill you anymore, he did kill Merlin. So, Harry, if I were to shoot Gary, would you retaliate? He shot your best friend.” 

“Merlin was involved.” Harry said. It didn’t really answer the question, though perhaps it did. 

Roxy was unimpressed by that statement. “So are you,” she said. “You have killed Clyde Harris, haven’t you? It is the only thing that makes sense. Now, the rest of the things that Gary has done could be forgiven, in the light of him going back here to save us. But unfortunately, he shot my boyfriend.” Before anyone could react she had her gun aimed at Gary’s head, and if there was one thing they all knew about Roxy, it was that she would not miss. “So give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t just kill him right now!” 

There was a knock on the door, and everyone turned around at once, except for Roxy, who calmly picked up Harry’s gun and aimed it at the door, while keeping her own gun aimed at Gary. A voice sounded from outside the door. “I can give you a reason.” 

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Merlin? He looked at Roxy, who looked torn between relief and disbelief. “Come in,” she said. There was suspicion in her voice, though she did lower the gun that was aimed at the door.

Harry knew exactly like she felt, because he felt it too. The door opened, and even though it only took a second, the anticipation seemed to tear his heart in two. Merlin opened the door and took one quick look at the people who were gathered, saw Charlie’s bleeding hand and Roxy’s trembling lips, and swooped her up in a hug. She wrapped her arms around him, her feet were lifted off the ground, and she sobbed into his shoulder. 

Harry approached and carefully removed the gun from her hand. She looked up, saw it was him and let him proceed. Merlin turned around, still clutching Roxy to his chest, and looked at Harry with teary eyes. Harry put his arms around the both of them. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t care, his best friend was alive, he was alive, he was alive.

****

Eggsy didn’t know how to feel. He had shot Merlin. He had seen him dead.

How?

Somewhere, he felt relief. Arthur was the only person who deserved to die. But he also couldn’t comprehend how this could have happened. He stood there in silence and watched Harry embrace Merlin and Roxy, who still clung to Merlin like the would disappear the moment she let go. 

Percival was watching the embrace with a sad kind of fondness. Eggsy could guess what he was thinking about. Percival would have given everything for that to happen with Lancelot, to see him return from the dead. 

Eventually Merlin gently freed himself from Roxy’s grip. He smiled at her, a heart-warming, proud smile, then he looked at the others. “I probably have some explaining to do, don’t I?” 

****  
They listened to Merlin’s version of events in awe. Roxy had been correct about almost everything. Gary had indeed broken into Merlin’s home once, stealing one bullet-bomb and the phone needed to detonate it. He had been filmed from all sides, which usually would be a good thing, but Gary’s face wasn’t in a database, so Merlin still didn’t know who he was. Until Gary approached him and told him the bomb had been installed somewhere, and the only way Merlin could make sure that neither Gary, nor his ‘associate’ would use it, was by helping them. Merlin had wanted to refuse, but also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop it. So he played along. 

He had been aware of Gary’s obsession with Harry, but didn’t know the reason. At that point in his story, he turned to Eggsy and said “I’m truly sorry about Lee.” There was nothing else to say. 

Eggsy knew he was sincere. He simply nodded in acknowledgement. 

Merlin continued. He had only started to suspect that Gary had involved Harry last night. “And that suspicion got confirmed when I went home that night and Charlie was waiting for me at my place.” 

Charlie looked at the ground, Gary, Harry and Percival looked at Merlin with confusion. 

“He said that he had been kidnapped but now had managed to escape. And he told me that Gary wanted to kill both me and Arthur. And he SAID that he didn’t know why.” Merlin looked at Charlie angrily, who kept his eyes on the floor. “So we made up a plan. I would let Harry know that I knew he was involved, so Harry would know that I looked into his phone. That would make it seem like I walked into a trap, when actually, Gary was the one who was getting fooled. See, yesterday, I genuinely believed Charlie, I really believed that he was in it against his will, and that he wanted to save Harry and me. He is a bloody good actor, I’ll give him that. Anyway, I expected Gary to kill me, and I know from the three dead policemen that he is quite good with guns. But it had to look like he would kill me. First of all because it meant that I could work on other things while he believed that I no longer formed a threat. Like dismantling the bomb that I realised was in the morgue.” He looked at Roxy with pride. “And second of all, so he wouldn’t know Charlie had been in contact with me. So I used a thing I had been working on. Think of it like a fake bullet wound that they use in movies. It was like a skin-coloured band aid, that would explode and make it look like my brain got blown to bits. The gun Gary used on me, didn’t fire. And that is thanks to Charlie, who switched Gary’s, or rather, Harry’s gun, for this realistic looking prop.” 

Roxy was smiling up at Merlin with pride and wonder. Again, Harry felt exactly the same. 

“So Gary thought he shot me. But then something odd happened: Charlie left. And that was not part of the plan. That’s when I realised I had been played.” Merlin laughed wryly. “Again. But I couldn’t get up and follow him, because then Gary would start suspecting something. So I waited until Harry and Gary left as well, and then I started to make my way back to Kingsman. I dismantled the bomb. And then I came here.” 

“Hold on,” Percival said. “Why did Charlie let us hear the phone call?” 

Gary cleared his throat. “Because that was the only way you’d let him inside. And then he’d be able to detonate the bomb.” He looked at Harry awkwardly. “That was all planned before I knew the rest of the Kingsmen had nothing to do with it.” 

“Oh yes, Charlie?” Merlin said. He looked really pissed off now. He reached Charlie with two big steps, calmly said “I have never hit a recruit before,” and smacked Charlie with the back of his right hand. The sound of the slap was so loud it echoed around the room. Merlin turned around with a satisfied smile. “I hate it when people lie to me,” he said. “One more thing. Arthur is on his way here.”

Everyone looked at him with bewilderment. 

Merlin laughed softly. “Since he was still in his meetings, I sent him a text that there is news about the corpse on his porch. So he will soon be here.” He looked at the people who were gathered here. “Perhaps we can ask him about the testaments. Or,” he smirked, “I can check it right now, and if it’s true we can act accordingly.” He sat down at his computer, wiggled his fingers as if warming them up, and for the first time in his life hacked a colleagues bank account. 

Percival was looking over his shoulder, getting more antsy by the second. 

Merlin went through the deposits, and soon found what he was looking for. Lancelot’s inheritance. On Arthur’s personal bank account. He turned his head to Percival and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Percy.”

Percival nodded with tears in his eyes. He took off his glasses, cleaned them, and put them back on. Then he looked at Harry and Gary and said softly “Everything Arthur bought after Lancelot’s death was paid for with his life.”   
Roxy picked up Percival’s weapon and wordlessly handed it to him. Her intentions were clear. She hugged him and said “It won’t bring Lancelot back. But I certainly won’t blame you for putting a bullet in Arthur’s skull.” Percival closed his eyes and nodded. When she let go of him, he looked at the other Kingsmen present, and at Gary. “I think it’s safe to say that everyone here has one common goal,” he said. It sounded sad but determined. 

Gary very slowly reached for his weapon, realised it was fake, and left it on the ground. Merlin opened a drawer and handed him a gun. Nobody stopped him. 

Harry picked up his own weapon and finally gave Roxy hers back. 

Then they waited.

****

Arthur walked in without knocking, anxious to know who the dead person was that had been found on his property. He saw Percival, Merlin, Harry and Roxy, which surprised him somewhat since he had assumed only Merlin would be there. The bigger surprise however, was that he saw Charlie Hesketh sitting on the floor, with a bloodied tie around his hand. The next shock came when he looked to the other side and saw a young man whom he immediately recognised as the Tate bomber. 

The young man was not in handcuffs. In fact, he seemed pretty at ease. He smiled at Arthur and winked. 

“Merlin, what is-“ he stopped himself when he looked up and saw that the four agents were all looking at him with disgust and determination. It was only then that Arthur looked behind Merlin and saw his own bank account in full view. “I.. I can ex-“ he never got to finish that sentence. “I really, really loved Lancelot.” Percival said softly, and slowly aimed his gun at Arthur’s forehead. 

“And I think you’re a dick!” Gary yelled, and shot Arthur in the dick. Percival didn’t even flinch when he heard the gunshot, he simply pulled his trigger as well. The bullet hit Chester King right between the eyes. A fraction of a second later, three bullets followed, hitting Arthur in the chest at exactly the same time. 

****  
Percival looked down at the dead body. He looked calm, relieved and sad, all at once. “It won’t bring him back, but it felt damn good to do this,” he admitted, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Eggsy let out a manic laugh. “I shot Arthur in the dick,” he said, sounding amused. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” 

Percival laughed, and Harry couldn’t help himself, he laughed as well. 

“I didn’t have the patience to let him suffer, but I hope it hurt like hell.” Percival said. Then he looked at Roxy, Merlin and Harry. “Nice to see that the three of you all had the same idea.” 

Roxy smiled at him. Then she took Merlin’s hand. “Good shot, love.” 

Merlin shrugged. “Just because I like computers doesn’t mean I can’t hit an unmoving target.” He grinned at Harry. 

Harry looked at the dead body on the ground. “I guess all of us needed to express some rage. Especially Eggsy.” 

Eggsy was still laughing, though there was hurt in there as well. It wouldn’t bring his dad back either, and while Arthur had not been directly responsible for it, he would have been one day, if Lee had made it. Eggsy took a deep breath to calm down, and any trace of joy disappeared. He looked worried, suddenly. “So, what’s going to happen to me now?” he asked.

Everyone looked at Harry. Harry smirked at Eggsy and shrugged. “You’ll find out.” 

****

Six months later:

“Are you taking the fucking piss?” Eggsy said when he took off the blindfold.

“No.” Harry looked terribly amused.

Eggsy swallowed hard. “Harry, this isn’t fucking funny.” 

“Oh, but Eggsy, I think it is very funny. And that’s ‘Arthur’ to you.” 

“I don’t really like the name.” Eggsy said, looking over the edge of the balcony uncomfortably. “Seriously though, Harry, this is not one of the Kingsman trials, is it? Charlie never mentioned this.”

“If you don’t call me Arthur, I will start calling you Gary again. And like I told you before, especially during trials it is important you use my professional name, or the other candidates might start to think I’m biased.” Harry was grinning. That asshole was actually grinning. 

“You ARE biased! I live in your fucking house! I bloody made you fucking pancakes yesterday! I fucking sucked your dick this morning!” 

“Merlin, please keep this out of the official record.” Harry said amusedly. 

“Of course, Arthur.” Merlin said. How Merlin managed to make his eye rolls audible was anyone’s guess. 

“I ain’t gonna climb outta here, no bloody way!” Eggsy gave Harry a pleading look. “Come on, I jumped out of a fucking plane, and now this? Bad enough I was the fucking gimp that time!” 

“You weren’t though,” Merlin commented into Eggsy’s earpiece. 

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck you, Merlin.” The cold wind was a constant reminder of how high up they were. Eggsy did his best not to look over the edge. “Why do I have to do this? I’m the only candidate left! I thought that made me the new Galahad!” For some reason that made Merlin chuckle.

“It’s the last test.” Harry smirked. “To see if we haven’t made the wrong choice. A Kingsman agent can’t be afraid of heights.” 

“I’m not afraid of heights!” That was a lie, but Eggsy was a firm believer in positive thinking. Not. Since he had heard that Roxy also had had a fear of heights once, he was determined to beat his fear as well. “I’m just afraid that Merlin’s bloody suction cups are gonna fail and you’re gonna have to scrape me off the pavement.” 

“Merlin never fails.” Someone said condescendingly. 

“Why the fuck is Roxy in your office? Is there a fucking office party going on? Do you invite everyone to talk into my ears in turns, to distract me?” Eggsy was scared shitless, and it showed in his accent taking on comical proportions, and relentless motor-mouth. 

“Please Har- Arthur! I will let you do that thing-“ 

“Jesus, Eggsy! Stop being gross. Stop bribing Arthur with sex. Man up, and climb down the bloody building!” Roxy said. 

Merlin chuckled again. 

“I’m glad this is amusing to you!” Eggsy said sarcastically. He grabbed the suction cups and clicked them onto his hands and feet. Then he slammed his hand against the window of the skyscraper. It seemed sturdy enough, and he trusted Merlin, but this was torture. He climbed onto the railing of the balcony, attached the second cup, and rammed his foot against the glass. Hanging by three cups, he climbed over the railing completely. “Harry, if I die, I want my last words to be this: I fucking hate you.” 

Harry just laughed. Six months of going out proved quite the contrary. He watched with pride as Eggsy climbed down. Eggsy had his eyes closed tightly the whole time, and Harry could see and hear him curse the whole way down. Though – and it made him incredibly happy - he also saw the proud grin on Eggsy’s face. He could do this. 

He watched Eggsy until he finally had ground beneath his feet again. The shaky breathing Harry had heard all this time returned to normal. Eggsy sank to the ground with his eyes closed, his legs couldn’t carry him anymore. “I’m alive!” he sobbed. 

Harry laughed at the surprise in his voice.“ Yes you are,” he said. Then he cut the connection between Eggsy and his earpiece. He could still hear Eggsy’s soft sobs, but Eggsy could not hear him. “Shall I make it official?” Harry asked, addressing Merlin.   
Merlin chuckled. “Took you long enough,” he said amusedly.  
Harry didn’t reconnect the comms. Instead, he leaned over the balcony and shouted down at his boyfriend. “EGGSY!”

“WHAT?!” Eggsy screamed back. He still had his eyes closed.

Harry laughed. He was enjoying this. A lot. “CONGRATULATIONS ON HAVING BEEN A KINGSMAN FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS!” 

Eggsy’s jaw dropped and he looked up at Harry. “YOU FUCKING –“ his comms gave out, as they did at dangerous levels of noise – which mostly meant explosions, but in this case was just Eggsy’s swearing. 

Harry looked down at Eggsy, and could see one swearword after another being shouted up at him, complete with very crude gestures.   
Eggsy ran towards the entrance of the building, and Harry started to descend the stairs. Every once in a while, Eggsy’s voice returned to normal levels, allowing Harry to hear the cheerful abuse that Eggsy was shouting at him “…. Bloody let me do this!”…. “Goddamn Harry Hart!”…. “Final test!”…. “Bloody posh wanker!”. 

When he was almost halfway down, Harry could hear fast footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Eggsy’s swearing was not only in his ears, but right in front of him. Eggsy saw him, and ran up to him with childlike glee on his face. “I’m a Kingsman!” He jumped into Harry’s arms.

Harry held him tightly. “Yes you are.” he said. 

“I have been a Kignsman for a day!” Eggsy yelled, and sobbed and laughed at the same time. His arms were around Harry’s shoulders, and he pressed his face into Harry’s neck. 

“Yes. I’m really proud of you, Eggsy. Or should I call you Galahad?” 

Eggsy started laughing, and it sounded like he would never stop. Then he started sobbing. It was joy, and pride, and the fear of the climb, and the relief of still being alive, and being with Harry, Harry, Harry. 

Harry held him tightly, stroking his hair softly. 

After a minute, once Eggsy had finally managed to catch his breath, Eggsy kissed him tenderly on the lips. Then he took a step back, raised his hands in the air in celebration and screamed, loud enough for the comms to shut off again, “I’M A KINGSMAN! AND I FUCKING LOVE YOU HARRY!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's finished! I hope you liked it!


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